


I'll Meet You There

by maybecatie



Category: American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2011-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybecatie/pseuds/maybecatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse Eisenberg and Andrew Garfield have spent the past six years building their life together. They’ve publicly come out in public, they share an apartment and they’re both invested in their acting careers, and they’re still as head-over-heels in love as they were while filming their first movie together.</p><p>But all of that’s changed in a fraction of a second. Be it a ‘punishment’ from God or just bad luck, Jesse’s in the wrong place at the wrong time, and when he wakes up in the hospital, he doesn’t even know who he is. It’s up to Andrew to fill in the blanks of Jesse’s fragmented memories, trying to rebuild their life and help Jesse recover, but some of the pieces just can’t be found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in which the accident occurs

The headlines were all over on the very day it happened. On the internet first, all over Twitter, AOL, CNN and every place where you could read a news story, even just moments after.

The next day, and for the next few months, the newspapers, the magazines, the tabloids, as if it wasn’t hard enough to deal with without living it twenty-four-seven. Every single magazine in existence just felt that they had to cover it even though every single other one already had, as if it was so important that they weren’t left out.

And then there were people’s reactions to the story, probably the hardest to cope with. Some said they deserved it, that it was God punishing them for their sins, some were just plain hateful, spamming online message boards calling them ‘stupid fags’ and expressiong their happiness for Jesse’s misfortune. There were some, of course, who offered their condolences, sent cards and presents, donated, set up little support groups, but these were almost equally hard to accept.

It was a fight for Andrew to be even allowed into the hospital to see him, as they said he wasn’t technically – legally – considered a legitimate spouse, even though they’d come out publicly together years ago. But he’d fought his way in, tooth-and-nail, because he’d be damned if he let some homophobic idiots sitting behind a desk tell him he wasn’t Jesse’s partner.

As he was getting to the room, his brain managed to think up the very worst-case scenarios and present them to him in horrifying detail. The details exchanged in the phone call from the hospital had been brief, and he let his imagination conjure up the rest. He convinced himself he was going to lose him.

And he did lose him. Just not in the way he’d been imagining.

 

oOo

 

“At the moment, he can’t remember anything; we asked him what year it is, who the President is, even his own name – nothing. But there’s one thing that he does remember – something he keeps repeating over and over.”

“What is it?”

The nurse shifts her clipboard to her other hand, and she studies Andrew’s face as she replies, “Your name.”

 

He takes a deep breath before he opens the door, but it feels like he can’t get enough air into his lungs no matter how much he inhales. There’s a pressure in his chest that feels like something’s trying to crush him, but he forces himself to pull it together before he goes in.

He steps inside the room tentatively, Jesse’s head snapping towards the door the moment he hears the knob turn.

Andrew’s heart shatters instantly at what he finds; Jesse sitting up in the bed, a hospital gown hanging halfway off his shoulder, the one thing you never want to see your lover wearing. A good chunk of his skull’s wrapped up in bandages, one wrist in a cast, and the rest of his body sprinkled in bruises and cuts. His eyes rest on Andrew’s, wide and afraid. He can tell from here that they’re red; he’s been crying.

His fingers clutch the blanket that’s draped over his legs, and Andrew’s never seen him looking so pathetic, so scared and vulnerable. It almost makes him burst into tears right there; he wants just to run over and hug his baby, but he can’t do that, can’t scare him; he can only imagine that this is even harder for Jesse than it is for him. He looks so small, so pathetic, hooked up to all these machines, so banged up and so…. broken. The equitment beeps around him, as if poking him, just saying hey you, don't forget I'm here!

“Jesse?” he whispers, trying to make himself seem as unintimidating as possible, but even as he just takes one step forward, Jesse rears back like he’s been slapped.

He has no idea who I am.

Wait, yes he does. Jesse clutches up the blanket under his chin and looks over Andrew’s body and face. His lips are just slightly parted and his eyes sparkle like he’s remembering something.

“Andrew?”

Andrew stops in his tracks. “Y-you know who I am.”

Jesse stares at him helplessly, and the nurse, from behind, places a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. He flinches, having forgotten she was there, and quickly brushes her hand off. “I… I know your name,” whispers Jesse, from the bed. “That’s all I know – who are you, and why do I know your name?”

“I-you’re…” Andrew stutters, having to sit down because this is all just so much to process. He’s spent the past few hours speeding to the hospital when he’d gotten the call, and then screaming at the hospital personnel who’d insisted he couldn’t see Jesse because the wasn’t a legal spouse, and now, when he’s finally gotten here, he’s just found out that Jesse – Jesse, his lover, who means more to him than anything in the world – can’t remember a thing; about the accident, about his life, or anyone in it. He fees sick, down to the deepest realms of his stomach, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from throwing up.

Jesse looks even more scared now, and Andrew stands up again, remembering that he has to be strong. He takes his wallet from his pocket – the same brown leather one that Jesse got him as a gift years ago – and removes a picture, a wrinkled photo that’s also been sitting in the pocket for years; a photo of them at some award show, back right after The Social Network, with his arm hooked over Jesse’s shoulder.

Those few months were the happiest of his life, Andrew now realizes. “We – I’m your boyfriend.”

“I’m gay?”

Even if it’s understandable, the question startles Andrew and he chokes, leaning back in the chair; Jesse really doesn’t remember anything. Not even him.

 

oOo

 

Jesse stares helplessly at the sea of strangers milling around his bed. A nurse is fastening a cuff around his arm to check his vital signs; a thermometer’s popped in his ear, and there’s beeping everywhere. His head itches, everything hurts, and he doesn’t know why he’s here or who any of these people are. All he knows is he’s in pain, and he’s scared. The cuff inflates, and the pressure on his arm is far too tight; it’s suffocating, crushing. He winces, then mentally chides himself for being such a baby.

“Can you tell me your full name?”

“I don’t know! I don’t even know why I’m here!”

The doctor looks at Andrew in annoyance, as if this is all his fault, and taps his foot on the floor; ugly white hospital sneakers. He’s losing his patience, and Andrew thinks from his chair that he shouldn’t be such a grouch if he’s going to be dealing with scared, sick people, especially his Jesse. “Mister Eisenberg – that would be your name – you’ve been in a car accident. You were riding on your bicycle and you were struck by a truck - sending you flying, hitting your head on the pavement. You’ve got amnesia, and we’re trying to see if-“

“When did that happen?”

“Yesterday. Do you know the date, Mister Eisenberg? Do you know what year it is?”

“I’ve no idea…”

“Do you know who the President of the United States is?”

“George Washington?”

More questions are asked; his name, again, his age, his phone number, his address. These, he quickly learns again after initially being unable to answer, though he still can’t say who the President is, what school he went to, what movies he’s acted in. He recognizes pictures of his parents and his sister, but he can’t remember their names, and he can’t recall the details of the accident. But when asked who ‘this man’ is (and the nurse will point to Andrew), Jesse will easily be able to reply ‘Andrew’, though that’s as far as his knowledge goes. He doesn’t remember ever living with him – ever having a conversation with him, ever kissing him, ever making love to him…

After the attack of questions, very few of which he is able to answer, a nurse finally asks him an important one; how he’s feeling. “Shitty,” he admits truthfully, and Andrew grimaces as he knows his Jesse would never have the balls to say that outright.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“You can let me sleep.”

“It’s lucky that amnesia is the most of his injuries,” the nurse says quietly, with a heavy sigh. “His brain literally sloshed around in his head-“

“I’m right here, you know.”

She gives him a sideways glance. “He’ll recover. But the amnesia – that’s unpredictable. The best thing you can do is be there for him.”

 

“How do you know who I am, but nothing else?” Andrew asks, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, after the doctors and nurses have finally left to give them some time alone. Jesse, poor Jesse – the one that’s suffering the most from all of this – looks exhausted, and exasperated, and Andrew can tell that all he wants to do is sleep.

He gazes down at his lap, pulling at the hospital bracelet and twirling it around his wrist. “I don’t know. I don’t even know who you are – just know your name. Like something’s pushing me to remember. But… that’s all I have.”

Andrew places a hand on Jesse’s; it’s the most intimate contact he’ll risk giving. “It’ll come back,” he says, and he’s not sure if it’s in confidence or hope. “Give it time.”

oOo

Andrew doesn’t dare leave the hospital that night. They allow him to sleep draped over a very uncomfortable chair, but he doesn’t make it through the night. He wakes up just as the sun begins to filter through the blinds covering the window. Jesse’s passed out in his hospital bed, and he looks exactly the same in his sleep as he always does; one arm stretched out under the pillow, hand dangling off the bed, legs crooked with his mouth hanging open. Andrew can watch him, sleeping like that, and pretend everything’s like it always was; everything’s normal.

And he watches Jesse, for close to an hour until it’s seven AM and the cafeteria’s open for breakfast. Making sure Jesse’s still asleep, because he’ll be damned if he’s not there when he wakes up, he scurries down. Normally, he wouldn’t leave his bedroom looking like this; hair in a tousled mess about his forehead, shirt wrinkled – he’s still wearing the same thing he came to the hospital in – but this is a hospital, and everyone looks that way. It doesn’t even occur to him who might be watching, taking pictures, or who might pop out from around a corner to pepper him with questions; the only thing on his mind is Jesse.

And food.

The last thing he wants is the bland, chunky hospital food but he’s in no position to be picky. He doesn’t even fully look at what he’s grabbing; like he’s on autopilot as he fills two trays of food and carries them back to the room. It’s not until he gets there that he looks down at his choices; some bland pancakes, sausage and eggs. How classic.

Andrew’s been grown to being so used to sleeping up against a body that it’s impossible for him to sleep alone, and all he wants to do is curl into that twin-sized bed and pull Jesse into his arms. My sweet boy, he thinks sadly. Remember me. He knows he has to give it time, but once again, he can’t help but think of the worst-case scenarios and play them over and over in his head.

He doesn’t taste the food as he eats it, which is probably to his benefit, and Jesse sleeps on; a predictable result of a head injury, and he’s at least been treated to a private room, and the nurses have assured him that until Jesse’s discharged they will be protected with the upmost security. Not that they’re really famous enough to need much…

Jesse wakes up when the nurse comes in, again, to check his vitals. He looks groggy and miserable, and Andrew hates that the only thing he can do is nod towards the second tray. “Hungry?”

 

oOo

 

Five days in the hospital pass. Five excruciatingly painful days, for all parties involved. Jesse hasn’t recalled anything of value. Andrew’s given dozens of colorful pamphlets and handouts about How to Help a Loved One With Amnesia and How to Help One Recover from Memory Loss. Glossy little tri-fold papers with greens and blues and clipart, something that looks like it could be sitting in your local doctor’s office that you might just walk right by. He scowls at the pretty little Tahoma font, probably typed up by some intern or secretary sitting in a wheely chair, easily passed by someone who wouldn’t stop to – wouldn’t need to – pick it up.

Five days of exasperated rounds of twenty questions, five days that Jesse spends mostly sleeping while Andrew’s crying and ripping his hair from his skull, five nights of lying awake in a wooden chair, five days of tears, five days of hospital food that he doesn’t taste – five days without brushing his teeth. A toothbrush wasn’t exactly on his mind when he raced off to the hospital, and he hasn’t dared to leave and it’s not something he’s thought to ask for.

He’s talked to three different specialists, gotten referrals to therapists. The doctors all assure him that things should start to come back to Jesse in just a couple days’ time, that everything will be fine and he’ll make a full recovery. Why doesn’t he believe them?

He tries to keep himself cool and collected. For Jesse, he has to be strong; he can’t stress him out or scare him any more than he’s sure he already has. It’s more of an effort than he thought it’d be to not let the pet names like ‘Jes’ and ‘doll’ to slip out; he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable with them, considering the past four years of their relationship essentially don’t exist in Jesse’s mind. It hurts even more than a breakup would, maybe even more than Jesse dying, having him so close, but so out of reach.

As always, the moment they open the door, there’s a cat brushing up against their legs; one of three of them. Jesse leaps back instantly, staring at the animal like it’s some kind of monster, or giant insect. “W-what’s that?”

He doesn’t even remember his own cat.

Andrew lifts the fluffy white animal up, slowly, Jesse’s eyes following its every move. He’s trying to be patient, but his heart’s breaking inside; Jesse, the crazy cat guy who would jump in front of a bus to save a squirrel, doesn’t even know his own pet (although Andrew would be a little offended if he remembered the cat over him). “This is Blitz,” he says, slowly. “She’s your cat – one of them. You have two others; Polly and Chester.”

He sets the cat back down and she prances off to the kitchen, Jesse’s eyes on her back. It’s like he’s a guest in their little condo even though they bought it together. Andrew double-locks the door behind him, not in the mood to deal with anyone right now, though he knows he’ll have to be the one to break the news to Jesse’s parents, if they haven’t already seen it. He doesn’t check the messages on the phone, erases them all without even looking, so he has no way of knowing.

Jesse’s eyes roam over every nook and cranny, searching for anything familiar. Looking over at him, the pained look on his face, Andrew scolds himself for feeling sorry for himself. Jesse’s the one that’s been injured. But he can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t his Jesse; it’s him, but he’s different, and even though it’s no one’s fault, it still hurts whenever he speaks; there’s something different in his voice, in his eyes, something that’s not his Jesse at all.

“This is our home,” Andrew whispers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

They make dinner. It’s quiet, too quiet, as they whip up a pan of stir-fry together; oddly enough, Jesse remembers the recipe, but can’t recall Andrew teaching it to him. He keeps looking around the room with cloudy, disconnected eyes. He may as well be a total stranger.


	2. in which we begin to learn

“Huh?”

Jesse’s been staring out the window at the Manhattan street in complete silence, seemingly mesmerized by the sight of the cars whizzing by and the sounds coming from outside; even at this time of night, the city’s loud with voices and the engines and tires of the vehicles passing beneath. They could probably get a nice house in the suburbs, but neither of them has ever been able to move away from the concrete jungle; Andrew likes the excitement of it all, being close to everyone and everything, and Jesse likes being able to just get lost in a sea of people; rather than less-populated areas where he’s always sure that everyone’s looking directly at him and they’re just very good at looking away before he catches them.

“I asked, where do you want to sleep?” Andrew asks softly. “I mean, well, usually we sleep together, but… if you’re uncomfortable with that, well, there’s a spare bedroom.” It kills him to say – it’s just another way of admitting to himself, out loud, that until Jesse starts to remember, their relationship no longer exists. And what if he doesn’t? he can’t help but think. “If you’re up for it, we can go out into the city tomorrow, see if that jogs your memory at all.”

Jesse looks down at the shoes on his feet; shoes he can’t remember buying, ever wearing. He looks out the window again and desperately searches for something that might jog some sort of memory, might hold something he knows. He looks back at Andrew, who seems to almost look hopeful, and debates his options. Right now, he just wants to be alone, to try to sort through everything, even though he knows his answer’s going to hurt Andrew. There’s something familiar about him, like one of those people you see at school who is in half your classes but you never speak to, but he can’t call up any specific memory. They must have had something special, but what was it?

“I-I’ll… take the guest room.”

Andrew’s face visibly falls, but only for a second before he pulls himself together; telling himself he has no right to be upset. “Right – okay. You should shower first, maybe, and I’ll… get you some clothes. – oh, and you’ll need to wrap your wrist so the cast doesn’t get wet, you can use a baggie and some tape… do you need your pain meds?”

“Um, yeah.”

In the kitchen, Jesse silently lets Andrew wrap the cast on his wrist, pulling a plastic bag over it and securing the end of it against his skin with a few layers of tape. Jesse’s skin is cold; usually, it’s warm, infinitely warm even when it’s twenty degrees outside. He lets his hand linger on Jesse’s wrist before he realizes what he’s doing and quickly pulls away. “So, I-I… I’ll get you some clothes, and your medication and then you can take the guest room – it’s right over on the left…”

In the bathroom, Jesse lets the hot water fall against him as he sinks to the floor and buries his head in the front of his arms, and finally lets the tears fall freely. He wants so badly to remember – to remember something, anything. He doesn’t know anything about himself; he doesn’t know what he likes to do, where he’s been, what he’s done. Apparently, he’s an actor, but he can’t recall any of that. Why is he an actor? What’s he done? He doesn’t know who he is and he feels like a prisoner in this body. Is this where he lives, this apartment? How long has he been here? Why here? And with Andrew – Andrew. Oh God, Andrew.

Andrew’s the only name he knows – the only one he knew right away. Andrew! It’s there! It lingers in his mind like there’s something important about it, something pushing him to remember, screaming at him to recall anything. Andrew. You know who he is, Jesse. It’s the scariest thing in the world to not know anything about who you are or where you came from, or who any of these people milling around you are. Andrew seems like such a kind soul, and he feels some lingering connection to him, but what did they have together? He doesn’t want to hurt him like this, but what can he do?

He looks around the shower, eyes scanning the bottles and jars sitting on the ledge. Which ones are his? He picks up a rectangular bottle; Suave Coco-Mango conditioner, pops the top and inhales. The scent calms him immediately, gives him a feeling of home and he somehow knows that it must be the one Andrew uses.

He forces himself to his feet and turns the dial on the shower to the left until the water’s burning his skin and scalp, just to let himself know that he’s a real person, that he’s alive even if he doesn’t remember a thing. He takes the rough blue loofa and scrubs at his face, his neck, scrubs his freckles off, his fingerprints, scars probably from falling that he doesn’t remember getting.

A brief picture flits through his head; him falling off a swing as a child, maybe seven years old. He sees a flash of dark hair and a soft face; he guesses it’s his mother.

A memory.

He blinks and shakes his head to clear it.

He turns the water off and wrings the water from his hair, grabbing a towel and quickly shuffling into the bedroom. As promised, there’s an outfit waiting on the bed; underwear, a pair of gray sweats and a hoodie with Harvard across the front. He furrows his brow at the logo but quickly dresses himself, then slips into the hall, looking for Andrew.

“Andrew?” he calls, but it catches in his throat and comes out a whisper. He tries again; “Andrew?”

From the bedroom, Andrew instantly emerges. “Jes! Jesse, Jes, baby – sorry, I mean, Jesse, do you need your medication now-? Oh, let me help you get that off…”

Andrew hurries over to peel the tape from Jesse’s forearm and he can only watch him at a kind of distance. “Which one of us went to Harvard?”

“Oh, ah, neither,” Andrew smiles. “The movie we filmed – The Social Network – was set at Harvard, so we got some clothes with the logo, and I, ah, stole that sweatshirt. I have a lot of stuff stolen from movie sets,” he chuckles. Something blips in Jesse’s mind of him on a stage, of someone – a director? – yelling something at him, and him doing it, but he knows it’s not this movie as he’s younger and there’s no Andrew.

Jesse looks down at his chest again and Andrew gets the last of the tape off, removing the plastic bag and shoving it in his pocket. Jesse stares down at his toes. He’s cold, even with the sweats and hoodie, and as he can’t think of one person that loves him or that he loves, he feels so alone. Here, he’s got this guy right in front of him – who’s supposed to be his boyfriend – and who clearly loves him, too. There’s this warmth that’s coming off from him, even now, some part of Jesse deep down that maybe still loves him too. He thinks about going back into the guest bedroom –empty and cold, curling up under the covers and crying himself to sleep over everything he’s lost, everything he doesn’t know he’s lost. Why can’t he just fucking remember?

“I don’t want to go to sleep yet,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around himself, needing some kind of contact, and Andrew’s heart breaks. He looks so scared, so alone and so broken, and usually what Andrew would do is sweep him into his arms and kiss him, sing to him that it’d be alright, but that even isn’t an option right now. He places a hand on Jesse’s shoulder – the most intimate contact he’ll risk. The most, and the least he can do, is just be here.

“You want to go sit on the couch?”

They go to the couch. “That movie,” Jesse says, “The Social Network. Do we have it?”

“Of course – I have like, three copies of the DVD. You wanna watch it?” This is obviously not Jesse because everyone knows Jesse - even now - has an irrational phobia of his own image on-screen. He's only seen The Social Network twice; at the premiere, and because his therapist made him. Even as a two-time Oscar nominee, he's never been confident about his own acting skills.

A silent, barely decipherable nod. Andrew goes to the cabinet beneath the television and snatches one of his several copies of the DVD, putting it inside the TV before going to sit back on the couch. He lets Jesse sit on his own and doesn’t get to close, but Jesse immediately folds into his side; as always, he fits perfectly in the little pocket of warmth, and smelling so clean and new Andrew has to stop himself from pressing his face into those curls and inhaling. Andrew hasn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in a week and he hasn’t even gotten rest in thirty hours, but he’s not about to complain.

Jesse’s eyes grow wide as soon as the sound comes on, fixed on the image of the lady with the torch, and when his face comes up on the screen he sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh, God, that’s-?”

Andrew takes one of his hands, holding it between his own, and Jesse watches the scene unfold with wide eyes as Andrew moves his lips to the words. He’s doing okay, holding himself together until Andrew appears onscreen, and that’s when he freaks out- his’s hand is suddenly at the front of Andrew’s shirt, clutching desperately and his brow furrows like he’s about to cry. “Turn it off, turn it off.” The screen’s blank in a flash and Jesse curls into Andrew’s side, desperate for contact. Something about this position’s deeply familiar, but it’s just like a strong sense of deja-vu; he knows he’s been here before, but he can’t put a finger on any specific memory. His head presses almost painfully into Andrew’s chest and he makes an almost animal cry of pain and despair. Choking, he gasps out something that sounds like ‘tell me how we met’.

Andrew’s arms wrap around Jesse and holds him, feeling his shirt wet as he lets him cry out the tears of frustration. “We were in the movie together, The Social Network,” he whispers, sighing as he thinks of the day they met so many years ago. “It was a pretty simple meeting – there was a table reading, where we just sat down to read through the script, and that was when I first met you.” He sighs. “I was in love with you the moment I saw you, Jes… something just pulled me to you. You were so warm, so vulnerable, so brilliantly sweet and funny…” he finds himself starting to gush as he often does when speaking to anyone about Jesse, and lets himself trail off before taking a breath and explaining, “we started living together during the filming. We were spending all our free time together, going out to dinner together, playing board games together or cuddling with your cats…” he chuckles, and Jesse saves him from his rambling.

“Tell me about our first kiss.”

“Oh…” Andrew smiles down at him and closes his eyes a moment; he still remembers the kiss like yesterday. Jesse’s calmed down, his face is still buried in Andrew’s shirt but he’s peeking up at him, those gorgeous blue eyes shining in the dim light of the sitting room, and Andrew knows what he wants; he wants to tell him all about it, tell him everything, make him picture it so vividly that he might remember too. And then Andrew realizes; as long as he remembers, what they had still existed. It will never be gone, as long as he remembers and passes it on.

 

It was about three weeks after the actual filming began – almost two months after they’d met for the first time. They were settled in together in the apartment; they’d finally got all their boxes sorted out and had Jesse’s cats sufficiently settled in. (At the time he only had two, which was below his average number, and Jesse loved giving his cats completely cliché, demeaning names such as Cuddles or Zippy, but names would often make hi get to attached to the, and he'd give them a number. So currently their names were Mr. Whiskers and Number Two. (“Jesus Christ, Jesse, did you really name your cat Number Two?” “Oh, fuck you, Garfield, you – that – wasn’t even something that occurred to me at the time.”)

“You have an unhealthy attraction to cats,” Andrew said as he pushed Mr. Whiskers aside with his foot on his way into the kitchen, getting a very loud meow of protest and a concerned coo from Jesse. “I never understood them. They’re so… fluffy and whisker-ey.”

“You never had a pet?”

“Oh, I had a dog- and by the way, I am and will always will be completely team dog. Cats are so lame, they just sit there like they own the world. You can’t even walk them on a leash, they’d just drag along the sidewalk—“

“And they’d look like a boss while doing it.”

“Did you seriously just call Mr. Whiskers a ‘boss’? Since when do you use the internet?”

Jesse huffed; “I’m not completely removed from popular culture, you know – and I may have just decided to search YouTube to get a better idea of my costar.”

“Yeah?” Andrew laughed as he grabbed a soda from the fridge – something that Jesse hadn’t had in his house ever – popping off the top with a tcchh and taking a sip. “And did your opinion of me change when you met me in person?”

“Well, I hadn’t seen anything you were in before, I kind of knew your name, I knew you were at least a good actor, so I suppose I thought you’d be adequate for the part-“

“And what about now?”

Jesse fumbled – shit, why did he even bring that up? It’s true that he spent almost three consecutive hours on YouTube and Google searching for every Andrew Garfield interview he could find and renting all the movies on Netflix. He told himself it was just to get to know his costar, but once he started – once he laid eyes on this man’s face- he just couldn’t stop.

Andrew’s tall frame took up almost the whole fridge, and he probably didn’t realize how sexy he looked with his legs and arms crossed, shirt half-unbuttoned, especially with his head tilted to the side as he looked at Jesse with that smirk. Yes, Jesse did mentally describe him as sexy – he’d at least partially accepted the part of himself that thinks Andrew’s the single most attractive one man he’s ever met. They were together almost every minute of every day; they got their hair and makeup done together, they shot the majority of their scenes together, drove home together, and were together for the rest of the night. But somehow they never got bored of eachother – Andrew didn’t get annoyed with Jesse’s stuttering ramblings and use of big words and affinity for cats and geography, and Jesse never grew tired of Andrew’s sweet accent and his cooking and his cute little English scooter. Their relationship, while only just friends, was very physically affectionate; constant hand-brushing, shoulder-touching, bro-hugging physicality. Jesse wasn’t sure if Andrew realized what was doing, how his touch closed the electric circuit going through his body every time – he wasn’t even sure of Andrew’s sexuality or if it was just a British thing to be really affectionate – he denied any possibility that the touches could mean more - but he held onto each lingering moment as tight as he could.

He couldn’t deny the fact that Andrew made him feel something, either. Something that moved from inside of his chest to down in that southern region that he’d rather not mention. There was a part of him that never wanted to leave Andrew’s presence, that just sucked up all his confidence and looseness until it was enough to make him feel confident and relaxed too – he felt like he could do anything with Andrew right by his side. And then there was the part of him that he had just been trying to deny, trying to shove aside even though it liked to pop up when he was lying in bed or sitting in the makeup chair, and it was the part of him that made his eyes always drift towards Andrew’s lips or towards his jeans and its these urges, these wants that he didn’t understand. He was too old for his sexuality to be changing like this, wasn’t he? Then again, he had absolutely clueless when it comes to women, barely done anything with them really and surely never felt something like this. Though he was sure Andrew was at least somewhat on the edge of the fence, having remarked about the looks of a few men in passing, and the simple way he was so affectionate with Jesse, beyond what was necessary or possibly able to be considered heterosexual.

But Jesse didn’t mind that at all. Jesse knew Andrew adored him, he was always showering him with love, and the feeling was mutual… he just wasn’t entirely sure in what way.

Without all that flowery language, Andrew made him hard. That was about it. And he’s not sure if it’s just him, but with the fluttery awkward touches and looks that didn’t dare to get too intimate – or when they did get a little too intimate - there was always a thin strand of tension hanging in the air between them, and he hoped it wasn’t not too obvious – maybe it was just only him entirely. They’d had a few limited conversations about their relationships, and it didn’t seem like Andrew was into men but it didn’t seem like he’d gotten too much action with the ladies either, at least not that wasn’t on a set.

“I still think you’re adequate.”

“Really? Just adequate?” Andrew leaned up off the fridge and took a step closer. “Not even a ‘fitting’ or a ‘good’ or a ‘nice’? Or like, ‘super-awesome?’ Just ‘adequate’?”

Jesse countered with a backwards step. “Ah, well, fine, maybe you’re good. Not great, though. Just good. Take it or leave it.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’re suitable. How’s that?”

“I am so hurt.”

“I know, I know, you’re crying.” Andrew patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, bro.”

And then, suddenly, Andrew was right in front of him and his fingers were dancing up his side – tickling him. Jesse couldn’t remember the last time someone tickled him, even his mother. He screeched and his back arched into Andrew as he tried to escape, but that only pushed them closer together, and Andrew was stronger than him, easily, despite his skinny frame, and it was too easy for him to shove him back into the counter and attack his sides with those long, torturous fingers, though at that point he wouldn’t admit that part of it was just because he loved that look on Jesse’s face – his head thrown back and eyes fluttery with laughter.

“A-andrew- oh m-my god – what a-Andr-stop!”

“No, admit it! Admit that I’m the perfect Eduardo – you love me! Say it!”

“Nooo- I… aaah!” Jesse tried to jerk to the side to get free of Andrew’s arms, but of course, he could never beat Andrew at anything and this maneuver only wound up with both of them on the floor, Jesse nearly crushed under Andrew’s body weight, still being mercilessly tickled to the point of tears. “Okay, okay – you’re a good Eduardo!”

“I’m the perfect Eduardo!”

“You – you – ahh! You’re the… aaah!” by now poor Jesse was gasping for breath and practically screaming out his answer as he tried to shove Andrew off him. His hands had been shoved under his shirt and were viciously dancing over his chest, an area one might consider far too private, and with their bodies shoved together as Jesse squirmed for his freedom…

“You’re the perfect Eduardo!”

“And you love me!”

“And I love you!”

It was the cruelest thing to force him to say, but like a switch had been flipped, Andrew backed right off – he stopped tickling Jesse though he stayed on top of him leaving him gasping painfully for breath. Jesse looked up at Andrew with the most vicious glare his sweet face could manage which was only a ‘I-do-not-approve-of-your-actions’ look, and he opened his mouth with a gasp to say something, probably something like ‘I hate you’ even though he’d never mean it, but Andrew just pressed his fingers to his lips with that fucking smirk before climbing off of him and prancing into the living room on his Bambi legs.

And suddenly, Jesse was left there – with the weight of Andrew’s body gone from his, the closeness of his breath and the sound of his voice, after being so close and having it just gone – feeling cheated and deserted. He frowned and pushed himself up off the cold tile floor and fixed his shirt (which Andrew managed to shove halfway up his torso as he was slaughtering his ribs) and slowly shuffled out of the kitchen.

Andrew had decided to drape himself over the couch – his arm splayed out along the back of it and over the arm, one foot up on the coffee table even though he knew how much Jesse hated that, and he was just spread out over the couch like some Bambi prince in a way that made Jesse want to kick him out and jump on him at the same time.

“Andrew, how many times have I told you not to do that, that table is—“ he was cut off when Andrew took his hand and dragged him right down onto the couch on top of them, and suddenly their faces were so close – Jesse could just lean forward a little and their lips would brush. He forced that thought out of his mid though, gulping, and the spell was broken when Andrew laughed and pushed him down onto the couch beside him. “I don’t appreciate-“

“You need to relax, Eisenberg.”

“being manhandled – I’m perfectly relaxed!”

Andrew hooked his arm over Jesse’s neck and pulled it into his chest. “You just need to lie down. Chill. Take it easy.”

“How do I do that when you’re crushing my face?” his grumbles, and it’s not just the crushing of his face, but the close proximity of his face to Andrew’s crotch. He pushed himself up and Andrew, for once, let him go without a fight and flipped on the television. Jesse rubbed his eyes as he sat up, crossed his arms and leaned back with a pout. It didn’t help that Andrew practically thrusting their groins together had made him really hard, either.

He was tired, though, and it wasn’t long before he was sinking into Andrew’s side, face pressing into his neck. Andrew smelled so god tonight – he showered just after they got home – like vanilla and mango and something spicy. He used coconut shampoo and spicy cologne and fruity shaving cream, and it combined into a wonderful mix.

A movie came on – some bad made-for-TV flick that Andrew can’t remember the name of, but there was a scene between the two characters, talking about loving someone you can’t have, about feelings that go unsaid – and it was a rather awkward scene. For both parties. Jesse kept his eyes trained on the carpet, not wanting to risk making eye contact with Andrew. He felt second-handedly humiliated.

When he glanced up at Andrew, he noticed that he kept pursing and biting his lips, and the movement was driving him crazy. Was Andrew as nervous as he was – did he dare hope? The couple was in the middle of a screaming match, until – you know the old cliché – the boy grabbed he girl to pull her in for a kiss, and instead of her slapping the fuck out of him, they went at it.

He couldn’t hold back. If this ruined everything, so be it, but he had to know; at least know how it felt. The next time Andrew looked down at him, he lifted his head up to kiss his lips. He didn’t press or move them; just let them rest there, expecting the worst. But after the moment of initial shock wore off, just as Jesse was retreating, rested a hand on his neck to pull him back, and kiss him.

 

“I initiated it?”

Andrew smiles. “Yeah. You were so scared, you practically burst into tears right after.”

“But we’ve been… dating… since then?”

“Well, yeah.”

Jesse’s quiet then, and it’s probably only then that both of them realize they’re sitting on the very same couch in almost the very same position.

But neither of them mention that.

END PART II 


	3. in which jesse finds the notes

  
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soundtrack for this chapter; [_Say It's Possible -_ Jay Brannan](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKP3Mxtw8A4)

  
Jesse awakens the next morning, somehow, at about seven in the morning and isn’t able to get back to sleep despite his exhaustion and annoyance. The pain in his head and wrist are excruciating, so he sits up as carefully as he can. The sun, fortunately, shines on the other side of the house so the room is still fairly dark and cool without the light invading his eyes. He climbs out of bed and slowly patters over to the window, peering out.

The road below the window is already packed with cars and people on the sidewalk, hurrying to their jobs during the morning rush hour, and he realizes he’s not sure what his job is – or Andrew’s. But he guesses that he’s not expected to work in this state, so he doesn’t let it bother him too much for now. He’s _hungry,_ so the first thing he does is hurry to the kitchen.

There’s a sticky-note on the fridge; a pink one, written in Andrew’s messy girlish scrawl, which looks only somewhat familiar, and Jesse’s wondering why on earth Andrew would have a pack of bright pink stickies lying around. _you hate skim milk,_ the sticky note says, followed by a lopsided smiley face and signed _xAndrew_ at the bottom.

Jesse can’t remember the taste, but he takes his word for it, grabbing the two-percent. Stuck to one of the shelves, there is another. _you don’t eat meat, and neither do i._ On the pantry, _you like to alphabetize your cereal boxes,_ it informs him. _i don’t know either. xAndrew_

There's a heart in the corner, tiny and scribbled, like it as added an an after-thought, and Jesse almost breaks.

  
  
 __

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](http://pics.livejournal.com/maybecatie/pic/0001sqs2/)

  
He runs a hand over the colored paper, over Andrew’s handwriting. He imagines him sitting down to write these little notes and then posting them at appropriate places.He can feel Andrew’s love for him in almost everything he does and it kills him that he’s not able to reciprocate it.  He rests his head against the pantry door, salty water burning the backs of his eyes He has to remember. Why can’t he remember? Why isn’t it coming back yet? He’d been told it’d take time, but he doesn’t _want_ to wait. It’s clear he had an incredible connection to Andrew and it’s gone now, and he can only imagine what _he’s_ going through.

He’s not even hungry anymore, but he knows he’s got to eat, and he can’t very easily make himself anything other than cereal with his injured wrist. After discovering the pantry, he rummages around in the kitchen, opening every drawer and cabinet he can find, learning where everything is. There is another sticky note on a small cabinet above the phone in the kitchen that says _your medicine is in here!_ and another one stuck to the little orange bottle with a smiley face.  
  
He doesn’t find much to be smiling about.

On the fruit bowl on the table; _you can’t stand red apples, but you love the green._ When did he do all of this?

He downs the medication. It’s difficult and awkward with one hand, but after just a few minutes of searching he’s confident he knows where most things are, and he clumsily makes himself a bowl of Cheerios, and one for Andrew, too, though it seems he underestimated the difficulty of pouring the milk. He makes some major spillage (cleaning it up by tossing a washcloth on the floor and wiping it with his foot) before he has an acceptable bowl of cereal, and sits down to eat.

He’s about halfway through when he hears movement on the other side of the apartment, and then Andrew’s in the doorway. He leans against the frame and looks at Jesse with squinted eyes; his hair’s sticking out at all angles, his shirt’s crooked and wrinkled and it doesn’t seem like he’s slept. “Jess? Are you okay?”

“Yeah - just couldn’t sleep. C’mon, sit down, I made you breakfast...”

Andrew squints at the bowl, almost distrusting, and Jesse wonders frantically if he’s done something wrong; if Andrew’s morally against eating Cheerios or something, before he smiles and pulls the chair out from under the table - it scrapes loudly on the tile in the quiet room - and sits down. “Thanks, Jess. Really.” The Cheerios are a little soggy, but he doesn’t care and he’s not about to mention it.

On a regular day, they’d wake up together, after falling asleep in eachother’s arms; Andrew would wake up with his body all sprawled out across the bed, maybe drooling, and Jesse would be quietly curled up against his side. They’d drag themselves out of bed, take a shower together if they were up for it. Andrew would set the water just right and pull Jesse against his chest, the differences in their height just right for him to rest his chin on Jesse’s shoulder.

Andrew would run his hand through Jesse’s hair, fingers always so gentle, lathering it up with shampoo, pressing light kisses to his neck, leaving a bruise if he’s in the mood. He’d hold Jesse so tenderly, hands running up and down his body like he could never get enough. He’d drag his hands through his soaked curls and rinse his hair out, so carefully, like his body was eggshell.

They’d brush their teeth side-by-side in front of the sink, elbowing eachother to get a bit more room (Jesse’s _very_ picky about toothpaste and will _only_ use Crest) and Andrew would always splash cold water over his face even though he’d have just taken a hot shower. Andrew would brush and blowdry his hair, while Jesse would let his drip dry, and he’d go into the bedroom during this time to get himself dressed.  You might not expect it, but he spent just about as much time coordinating outfits as Andrew did fixing his hair. When he never knew when a picture was going to be taken of him, he had to make sure he looked awesome in every one.

He’d dab on some cologne - just a very small, light amount - and go to the kitchen, where he’d make breakfast if he was feeling like it; pancakes, eggs, and such like, or he’d simply make some cereal for himself and sit down to eat, after feeding the cat(s). Andrew would toss some clothes on (he never seemed to take too long with this but he still looked _amazing_ all the time) and join him. They’d make small-talk across the table, just waking themselves up, and then they’d both head off to work( After settling down in their relationship, they’d mutually agreed to take breaks from acting, get real jobs at least for a little while, so they could enjoy their time together without the hassle). Jesse would have to leave first, so Andrew would help him slip his coat on (though of course he didn’t need it, but Andrew was always such a gentlemen and it always made Jesse feel so special that he couldn’t say no) and they would kiss, and their morning together would come to and end. But it was always the best way Jesse could think of to begin the day.

But none of that happens, and there’s almost awkwardness between them; unspoken words lingering in the air, like something’s been left unfinished - or killed. And Jesse hates it, absolutely hates it because he can’t do anything about it. Even if he could, he wouldn’t know how to, what he could say or do to make it better.

“You in any pain - you take your medicine? You found it? I left a note on the cabinet...”

“Yeah. I, uh, I mean, yeah, I found it, I took it. I’m not really in any pain, no.”

Andrew exhales, nodding. “Okay. Well, I want to know, er, I wanted to ask you what you would think of therapy. Seeing a psychiatrist.”

“A psychiatrist?” he parrots.

“Yes... lots of the doctors recommended it for me. They’ll be able to help you talk through this, alleviate some of the confusion, and they even have techniques that can help you get better, that can help your memory come back quicker.” Andrew’s voice is truly concerned, and he seems excited about this idea, like it’ll really help, and Jesse just feels so guilty.

“Andrew?”

“Yeah?” Andrew’s answering him with no hesitation. He wants to badly to be connected to Jesse again, to speak to him again that it’s almost pathetic. “Yes, Jes?”

“I... I have been remembering some things,” he whispers, and very quickly adds “old things. From a long time ago - my childhood, or teen years. But sometimes I can’t tell whether they’re real memories or things my brain’s just made up because it wants to remember so badly.”

“A psychiatrist can help you with that,” Andrew says gently, reaching oer the table to rest his hand on Jesse’s. Jesse looks down at them and gently curls his fingers around Andrew’s, running a thumb over the top of his hand. He studies the bones like he’s trying to pick a memory that goes with them, but nothing comes to him.

“Can you tell me more - about us?”

“Of course,” says Andrew, because every memory with Jesse sticks in his mind as if it’d happened just yesterday. Everything with and about Jesse is sacred to him, and now that he’s the only keeper of those memories, it’s his responsibility, his duty to pass them on. “You’ll have to make that a little less vague though-” he smiles gently, and to his relief, Jesse returns it. “Where do you want me to start?”

“What happened after I kissed you?”

It wasn’t like everything was happy and dandy immediately after Jesse kissed him and they confessed their love for eachother immediately. The kiss was slow and light; the moment Andrew realized what was happening and got over the initial shock, he took Jesse’s face in both hands and kissed him almost desperately.

Jesse was the first person to pull away, the look of shock and horror registering on his face when he realized what he’d done. He practically flew backwards off the couch, wringing his hands in the air, tripping against the coffee table and crashing backwards to the floor, the table turning up onto two legs.

“ _Jesse!”_ Andrew launched up to help him; Jesse was sprawled out across the floor and gasping in pain after smashing his elbow against the wood, but he was up before Andrew could offer his assistance. He refused to think about what he’d just done or how Andrew will surely be disgusted with him now. He refused to think about how he’d potentially ruined everything between them because he couldn’t control himself.  
 _  
“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—no, sorry!”_

Andrew’s head was spinning and he thought he might fall over. He kept going over the kiss in his mind, asking himself if it was really real, if this was _really_ happening, if he was really awake, because it was the one thing he’d been longing for since he’d met Jesse. But now Jesse was freaking out, and he wasn’t quite sure why, wasn’t even sure why Jesse’d kissed him in the first place and he was so _helpless_ and _confused_ as Jesse climbed to his feet again.

He scrambled back up, but in his attempt to flee the room he wasn’t very coordinated and his ankle twisted, and he crashed again to the floor. This time, he didn’t try to move, just hid his face in shame, ready for Andrew to scream at him, kick him like a dog, call him disgusting, banish him from the apartment.

Andrew crouched down, slowly, his mind still spinning from the kiss but forcing himself to think about Jesse. _“Jes, Jes, sweet…”_

 “I’m sorry, Andrew, please, let’s just- forget this…”

“Jesse, for God’s sake, look at me!”

Jesse pushed himself up, slowly, looking at Andrew like a kicked puppy, and it just made his heart shatter.

He’d fallen in love with Jesse the day he’d met him. He’d seen Zombieland before, and was a fan of the movie, and had seen some odd other films that Jesse had been in, so he was looking forward to meeting him. But he hadn’t expected anything like the person he’d met that day at the table reading. Jesse had showed up in his glasses, first of all, and he’d always had a thing for glasses. He’d been immediately intrigued by Jesse’s quiet, yet strong presence, and the moment he’d open his mouth up to talk he’d fallen in love with his voice. He was in _awe_ of Jesse from the very beginning. He wanted to know everything about Jesse, wanted to know what he liked and didn’t like, what interested him, his passions. He wanted to be able to be Jesse’s and he wanted Jesse to be his.

He could never have enough. In public, his arm would be thrown over Jesse’s shoulder, or wrapped around his waist, or just brushing Jesse’s whenever he could, and those little touches always left him wanting more. He had to get close to him to act as Eduardo, but he never intended to fall in _love_ with him. He wanted to be Jesse in every way. He wanted to be his boyfriend in every way but a sexual way – though, very soon, there was sexual desire too. They’d cuddle together on a couch after a long day of filming, and Andrew would wrap his arm around Jesse’s chest in a way that could definitely be considered inappropriate. He _knew_ it _was_ inappropriate, but Jesse never complained and he just wanted to be as close as he could. Jesse would fall asleep on him, and he’d hold him, and he’d pretend that they were always like that. He’d pretend he was holding Jesse in a bed they shared, he’d pretend Jesse was his lover and that they did this every night. He’d let himself doze off happily there too, and sometimes he thought maye the right thing to do would be to wake Jesse up, but Jesse never seemed hesitant to knock out on top of him, almost as if he wanted to be able to pretend the same thing.

He’d never made any moves. Jesse was awkward with people enough already, and he didn’t want to hurt him in any way, or ruin anything they already had. So he minimized his physical affection to hugs and squeezes. But when he and Jesse had those deep conversations that went on for hours into the night, when Jesse shared his deepest secrets with him, described how badly he’d been hurt in the past, when he’d get that sad, regretful, puppy-like look on his face, all Andrew wanted to do was hold him, protect him from everything evil in the world.

He crawled over to Jesse and pulled him into an arm. Jesse was quivering, looking at him in fear, his lips tightly as if he was afraid he might lose his control and kiss Andrew again. “ _Jesse,”_ Andrew whispered, trying to sound as gentle and loving as he could, “ _what was that?”_

And Jesse told him. He poured his heart out. He gushed to Andrew how much he’d grown to love him over the past few weeks of filming. How when he saw Andrew, his whole world stopped for a second, how he found Andrew so wonderful and fantastic and beautiful and _fascinating._ How he wanted to learn everything about Andrew, how he wanted to know what he was passionate about, what he loved, what he lived for, and _he_ wanted to become one of those things, too.How he’d been doubting his sexuality for a while, and when he saw Andrew, he just wanted to be _his,_ and he just wanted Andrew to be his, too. He was crying by the time he was done, tears running down his face, head bowed in shame and humiliation. It was the most vulnerable he’d ever been, and he knew he could be ruining everything for both of them, for the movie, for everyone, and Andrew, at this point, could hurt him worse than he’d ever been hurt. 

But none of those awful things happened.

Andrew silenced him with a kiss. A soft kiss, effectively shutting Jesse up. Jesse sank into him and held on for dear life, and the words Jesse had used pretty much summed up all of Andrew’s feelings for him too, so there wasn’t much left for him to say. But he poured everything he could into that kiss, relishing the feeling of Jesse’s lips on his. His head spun wildly and his stomach exploded into a mess of fireworks and butterflies swarming about inside him, and he’s not sure how he managed to keep his cool. Everything was Jesse and nothing hurt.

They mutually agreed to take it slow, for both of their benefits. Jesse had never been with another man before and didn’t really know the logistics of it, and Andrew wasn’t about to push him into something he didn’t want, nor did he want to ruin something beautiful by jumping into it too fast. So while they were ‘boyfriends’, things stayed mostly the same between them for a while. Except that they’d kiss once they’d landed safely inside the condo with the door closed, that Andrew’s bed became _their_ bed and the little loving touches in public became a little more obvious, but nothing over the top. Andrew didn’t even see Jesse naked until about three weeks after they’d gotten together, and the poor thing was so embarrassed and nervous about his appearance that it took much coaxing and many kisses to even get that far.

But slowly, he began to realize he had no reason to be embarrassed in front of Andrew, no reason to fear his gaze. And the more Andrew told him he was beautiful, he was perfect, he was all Andrew could ever want or hope to have, the more he believed it. 

When they had eachother, nothing hurt. Nothing could ever hurt them, because all they ever needed in the world was one-another. In eachother’s arms, they were safe. They were happy. They were complete.

Not anymore.

Andrew was so wrapped up in retelling the story that he wasn’t paying attention to Jesse’s reactions. Jesse’s head is bowed, and one of his hands is slipped inside the other, resting on the table. At first glance, it looks like he’s asleep, but he isn’t. He’s been listening very intently, carefully processing every word, with his eyes closed so that he can visualize it in his mind. The way Andrew’s telling it, he can see it all. He can hear the love in his voice, he knows that everything he’s saying is true.  He gets a few brief sensations of a flash of Andrew’s face close to his, the memory of a warm breath on his neck, but it’s hard to tell of those are real or just a result of Andrew’s beautiful words. Sharing his memories, taking a memory that was once his too and giving it back to him.

It’s not over. Their relationship still exists. As long as Andrew remembers, it still exists. And the love is still there, because what’s in your brain may be erased, but what’s in your heart can never be. It will take time, it will be difficult, but he can rebuild this, step-by-step, memory-by-memory. There’s still hope.

oOo

“So,” Andrew says softly. It’s later in the day, and they’ve been watching television together. Bad daytime television, with Jesse leaning into Andrew’s side, though not getting too close yet. “I was thinking, maybe, we could go into the city today? You know, see if anything jobs your memory, and if not, I can show you around… all the places we used to go?” Jesse’s barely said anything all day. He’s just been quiet; clingy, but quiet, just kind of looking around at everything. _You love me,_ Andrew wants to scream. _Maybe you don’t remember, but you love me. And I still love you. Remember! Why can’t you remember?!_

Jesse debates it. He’s just getting used to this house, and to Andrew, and learning all these new things, so the thought of going anywhere else right now sounds utterly terrifying. But he would like to know where he lives, and Andrew looks so desperate and hopeful that he can’t say no.

The air outside’s almost painfully cold, even with the layers they’re wrapped up in. It’s a January day in New York, and snow is still piled against curbs, the sidewalk patched with sheets of ice; they must step carefully. Andrew doesn’t want to make Jesse uncomfortable, but he keeps an arm wrapped protectively around his waist and gives a fierce glare to anyone who looks at them the wrong way. Jesse clings to him, desperate for some comfort, something to protect him in this sea of strangers and unfamiliarity.

Andrew tries not to make notice of the photographers. They’ve been discreet, but they’ve been following he and Jesse since they left, snapping away. Andrew imagines a picture of Jesse, terrified Jesse with his head pressed to Andrew’s shoulder under the headline **_JESEE SHOWS HIS FACE FOR FIRST TIME SINCE THE ACCIDENT! LOVER HEARTBROKEN!_** Do people have _no_ respect?

“Why are people taking pictures of us?’’ Jesse whispers and Andrew’s heart breaks. He sounds like a little kid that’s afraid of the tigers at the circus.

“Ignore them, Jess,” he whispers, gently pulling him along the path. “That-“ he points to a little restaurant that’s the bottom floor of an apartment complex, “is our favorite place to eat. Everyone knows us, because we have dinner there each and every Monday.”

Monday was yesterday.

“Your favorite pizza topping is pineapple, though I’ve never liked it. We’ll get it split half and half; you’ll get pineapple, I’ll get mushroom or something. Never pepperoni though – you don’t eat meat. And neither do I – do you remember when you stopped?”

He doesn’t remember stopping at all. Andrew’s trying to get a feel of how far back the memory loss goes.

"Do you not, either?”

“Eat meat?”

“Yeah.”

Andrew half smiles and shakes his head. “I don’t. Haven’t for, oh, four years or so.”

“W-wow. Did you stop for me?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. It’s not that important to him anymore, just part of himself. “I couldn’t not.”

Jesse feels guilty. So painfully guilty that he doesn’t remember any of this. That Andrew’s love is clear and irrefutable and he doesn’t even remember anything they ever had together. “Can we get some pizza?”

  
“My favorite customers!” the manager greets the cheerfully, stepping away from the counter to give Andrew a friendly hug, and then Jesse. He’s trying to be nice, but of course he’s heard about the accident (it’s all over celebrity news by now) and it’s clear he’s being extra careful, a little too sympathetic, the way you might talk to someone in a wheelchair, whether you realize you’re doing it or not.

And Andrew realizes that nothing, no matter how hard they try, will ever be completely the same again. Because this will have happened.

“Names Jeff,” says the manager – a large, tall man with scruffy brown hair. He extends and nonthreatening hand, which Jesse tentatively shakes. “You two may sit anywhere you like.”

“We usually sit over here,” Andrew whispers with a little grin, gently pulling Jesse over to a small table that’s right next to a sunny window. A hostess immediately brings them  menus and silverware. “You want to just get pizza, or look over the menu?:

“I think I’ll go with just pizza.”

So they order their usual; a medium sized pizza, extra cheese, half with mushrooms and half with pineapple.

Jesse’s staring at the table, fiddling with the hexagonal pepper shaker, turning it back and forth in his hands. Andrew grins suddenly, grabbing the salt. “Want me to show you something?”

He tilts the shaker over the table and tiny crystals of salt come pouring out across the top, just enough for a light dusting. Jesse watches, intrigued, as Andrew tips the shaker onto one of its bottom edges. After a few moments of tipping it back and forth, he removes his hands, and the shaker is balanced, on top of the salt, on one edge.

Jesse blinks, rather impressed.

“You were so good at doing this,” Andrew laughs softly, sweeping the particles onto the ground with the side of his hand, sliding the shaker across the table, inviting Jesse to try.

He does. He does as Andrew did, pouring a small amount of salt out and tipping the shaker onto an edge. It only takes a moment of adjustment for it to stand on its own. “Guess I’ m a natural?”

“Huh,” Andrew blinks. Funny how the brain works (but no, he is not jealous of a salt shaker).

  
When Andrew gets up to go to the bathroom, Jesse stays behind at the table, and Jeff quietly waves him over. In the little hallway, he rests a hand on his shoulder and glances at Jesse, who’s sipping his Coke Zero. “I’m so sorry about what happened,” he whispers, “and this may be totally out of line of me, but you know everyone loves you here, and we are all here to support you. If you need anything.”

Andrew’s touched by the words. He really is, because for so long, he’s been feeling so alone. He may have lost the best thing in his world, and it’s just amazing to know someone cares. “Thank you,” he whispers, genuinely.

“I admire you, Andrew, I really do,” says Jeff. “You are both so strong… he needs you. More than ever. More than anything. Just keep holding on. It’ll be okay.”

 _It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay._

  
Back outside, bellies full of pizza, Andrew points out all the places he and Jesse would go. The gym, the library, the little antique shop on the corner that Jesse adored, the Asian market where they’d by basket-loads of Japanese candy, tea and gum. The movie theatre.

“There was one time,” Andrew whispers in Jesse’s ear, because no one passing them needs to hear what he’s saying, “when we saw a movie. I don’t remember which one it was, but I remember that when it let out, it was raining like _crazy._ Street flooded. And you and I stood on the edge of the road, by the curb, and had a water-fight there, kicking it at eachother, splashing eachother. We got so wet, moreso than we already were, but we didn’t care. We just laughed and splashed eachother and got wonderfully soaked. That may be one of my favorite memories.

Jesse doesn’t remember this. But he listens to the story, repeating it to himself over and over until he almost can.

 _“Jes! You little – I am going to get you!”_

“In your dreams, Garfield- aren’t you supposed to hate water?”

Splash, splash.

  
 _  
“Aaaah!”  
_  


A roll of thunder.

A flash of lightning. People running by them, hurrying home, hurrying to be out of the rain.

And them, laughing. “Aah! Drew!”

Splash, splash.

END PART III 


	4. in which everything falls apart

DON'T HATE ME FOR THIS CHAPTER.

 

  


soundtrack for this chapter: [_If You Can't Sleep_ \- She  & Him](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fh4l2cubkAQ)

There are more little sticky notes waiting to be found on just about anything he may want information on. He hasn’t mentioned them to Andrew, but they continue to appear. _you like to sleep with the windows open because the breeze and the sound of the traffic calms you down_ is stuck by the window. _99% of your clothes are stolen from movie sets. you naughty boy_ says the one stuck to his dresser, which Andrew’s generously placed some of his clothes in. Again, Jesse can’t imagine _when_ Andrew would have done this. Does he get up early to leave these notes everywhere?

 _you don’t drink coffee, but you love tea – cinnamon tea,_ says a note stuck to the brewer, alongside a little doodle of a steamy cup.

 _you have a nasty habit of opening cabinets and drawers and not closing them._

you hate your bagels toasted.

did you know that bathing a cat is never a good idea? you probably did. It’s kind of self-explanatory. funny story, though. ask me sometime.

They’re everywhere, letting him know everything about himself that he would want to know with anything he comes across. He leaves the stickies where they are, and soon the kitchen is a little sea of pink squares.

Some of them spell out a memory, too. _we watched Zombieland here. or at least I watched it while you had a panic attack every time you saw your face on the screen. which was often – you know, since you’re the star._

While Jesse is only just learning all of their most cherished memories, Andrew is trying harder and harder to hold onto them. He looks around the apartment and can only think of what once was there that isn’t anymore. Everything in this place has a memory connected to it, but he leaves some of these out, doesn’t want to make Jesse feel guilty or uncomfortable. But there’s the bed where they first made love, the kitchen counter the did it on later, the dent in the wall where Jesse threw the phone at it during their first fight. The sink where they had a soap fight. The stove where Jesse taught Andrew all of the best vegetarian recipes.

They retreat to their separate rooms that night. Andrew kicks the covers off the bed and curls up in his underwear with his arms and knees clutching a pillow to his chest, needing something to hold. Sleeping with someone wrapped up in his arms for years and years and suddenly have them disappear, being alone, is almost unbearable. He can’t reach up to run his hand through Jesse’s curls, wrap an arm around his waist and have the crook of Jesse’s neck to rest his head in.

He breathe in the scent of Jesse’s pillow that still smells like his shampoo and cologne. He smashes it into his face and inhaleit, and then once he’s gotten enough, hold it more gingerly and breathes it in softly, not wanting to waste it. Not wanting to waste _anything_ he has left of Jesse.

The first thing Jesse does the next morning is flip on the radio in the bathroom and take a scalding hot shower. Every drop burns, leaving his skin a blotchy red, sizzling, steaming, but it’s all that’s letting him know he’s really alive. It’s punishing him for not being able to remember, for hurting Andrew likes this. And the sound of the water drowns out the sound of his crying, washes his tears away.

 _Remember, remember, remember!_

 _  
I can’t! Don’t you think I would if I could?   
_

He’s in there for almost forty-five minutes until his skin is red and raw and numb. He glares at his reflection with a towel around his waist, hating what he sees, despising it, wishing himself dead.

Andrew knocks on the door before peeking inside. He looks better – or at least not like deaf. “Jes? Are you okay? You’ve been in here a while…”

“Yes,” Jesse replies quickly, keeping his eyes on the mirror, trying to avoid looking at Andrew’s pitiful, sorrowful face. “What’s up?” he asks, and the question is almost cryptic because they both certainly know what’s ‘up’.

Andrew seems to hesitate, before he murmurs “your parents want to see you.”

  
oOo

It’s up for no argument and Jesse’s parents arrive in the next day. Still residing in New York, they’re not far. They’ve always been fond of Andrew, ever since they first became costars. Jesse’s mother will just gush about what a wonderful man Andrew is and how lucky their whole family is to have he and Jesse together. Andrew will blush, and nod, and say that he’s only treating Jesse the way everyone should because _Jesse_ is the amazing one. But right now he could really use the encouragement.

Jesse knows who his parents are, at least. He _is_ remembering. Recollections of his childhood are coming back quickly; he can recall baking cookies with his mom, listening to Broadway showtunes in the car, playing baseball with his dad. Getting a kitten for his birthday. he guesses, somewhere around his twenty-fifth. After that, there’s not a thing – it’s as if he’s been asleep the past six years. 

Still no Andrew.

They decide to meet at the apartment on the ground that it’d be the least stressful for Jesse. The bell rings, an Andrew pulls him into a hug before he opens the door. He wants to kiss him so badly. It feels like they’re miles apart.“You ready?”

“Uh huh.”

He opens the door. Barry and Amy Eisenberg are huddled together and it’s obvious his mother’s barely holding herself together. Immediately when she sees Jesse, all bedraggled and bandaged, she sweeps him into his arms. Jesse embraces her, burying his face in her shoulder and choking out “Ma”. His shoulders shake with a single sob, and she holds him tenderly.

Andrew swallows the pang of jealousy.

oOo

“Drew?”

“Carey?”

“Andrew?”

“Carey.”

“Andrew, for Christ’s sake, it’s four in the morning.”

“Oh-!” Andrew mentally curses himself. “I’m sorry, C! I forgot about the time difference..I-I’ll hang up.”

“No, Andrew… you never call me. You’re phone-o-phobic. What is it, love?”

So Andrew  tells her, everything, about the accident, about the amnesia and how Jesse may never remember anything ever again. Carey, living in England, hasn’t heard the news yet, and she listens, without interruption, letting Andrew cry over the phone to her.

“Everywhere I go I just think of what’s lost,” Andrew choke out. “I used to wake up and know I’d be able to bear the day because I would have him by my side. I’d have him to hold at the end of it. And now that’s gone! We worked so hard.. we worked for everything… everything I see reminds me of him, everything holds a different memory, one that he doesn’t have. I need him, Carey, I…” he’s crying now, full-on, and he doesn’t try to stop it. He lets his tears roll down his cheeks and his shoulders shake. Carey doesn’t say anything, but the occasional ruffle and the sound of her breath on the other end lets him know that she’s there, and that’s almost enough.

He wipes his nose and his eyes, blowing his nose into a tissue from the box on the nightstand. “Carey?”

“I’m here, drew. I’m always-“

“C.”

“Yes?”

“Please… can… you… not call me that. I mean, that’s what he-“

“Of course, Andrew. You don’t need to explain anything. I’m always here, Andrew. Any time of the night or day, you call. Don’t think twice about it. You’re more important than anything I’m doing – you need me, you need _anything_ , you call. Understand?” Her tone makes it clear that she will not accept any argument. Carey’s always been there for him, even if being there is just being _there._ “but Andrew, how are you helping him?”

“I’m just trying to… be as gentle as I can. I don’t expect things to go back to how we were. I’ve been telling him about us, because he’s asked and he’s listened,and I’ve been trying help him get some memories back… I guess all I can do is support him.”

“He doesn’t remember _anything_?”

“Not for a few years back,” Andrew whispers, his voice wavering as he’s forced to say it again. “We’re trying to figure it out, exactly, but he doesn’t remember The Social Network, or Zombieland or any movie at all. But he remembers things from farther back… from his childhood.”

“But…”

“But nothing about… us.” Andrew swallows a sob and it burns down his chest. “His parents came today.”

“How did that go?”

“We’re trying to decide what to do.”

“His parents love you, Andrew. As they should. Everyone loves you. You’re the best person for Jesse, and everyone knows that. You’re still perfect for eachother.”

“He doesn’t love me anymore.”

“ _No._ ” The sharpness of her voice catches him off-guard, makes him listen. “No. Andrew, no. He still loves you. It’s there, in his heart.”

“But what if he comes out of this as a completely different person?”

“I think anyone would come out of this a different person.”

“That’s not what I mean. I man, he… he’s quiet. Too quiet. He doesn’t talk, there’s this wall there, and when he does talk to someone, he snaps. It’s not him.”

“You have to let him cope however he can, Andrew.”

Carey’s never been the kind of person to sugar-coat her advice. She tells it to you straight, and you only go to her if you want the God-honest truth from a valued friend. And that’s why Andrew loves her, because she will never lie to you, and she’ll actually tell you something that’s worth hearing.

They talk into the night – or the morning, for Carey. Talking about anything, just to get Andrew’s mind on something new. Cracking jokes, talking about the weather, what’s going on in their respective cities. Carey says she’s going to see a play-

“Oh! That’s a marvelous idea!”

“Huh – what is?”

“A play! I’ll take him to Broadway! We’ll see _Cats_ or something. He loves Broadway!”

Carey laughs gently, not at all upset with him for interrupting and bringing Jesse up again. “That’s a fantastic idea.”

They share some of their favorite memories of Jesse. And there, taking with an old friend, reminiscing on happy times, it’s almost like the good old days (those days being two weeks ago). But the question is still fresh in Andrew’s mind: who are we without our memories? Are they what make us different from animals and machines? If you have no recollection, no knowing what you’ve done and seen and been through, who are you? And if you don’t have the memories associated with love, can you be in love? Is the heart dependent on the brain, or is it the other way around? Is it its own? If you don’t have one, is the other worth anything?

oOo

Jesse’s parents are spending the night at a hotel just down the block from the apartment. His mother’s clearlya wreck though clearly trying not to express it. His father seems to be on the verge of a breakdown at any momemt too, and he just wishes there was something he could _do._

“Andrew?”

He fliches when Jesse’s father suddenly calls him over. Jesse’s in the shower again – god knows what he does in the amount of time he spends in there. “Y-yeah?” He’s looking at Andrew a little too softly, the way you do when you’re delivering bad news. “What is it…?”

“Amy and I have decided, Andrew, that it may be best for Jesse to return home – to live with us for a while, where he grew up.”

Andrew’s shocked, and for a moment he doesn’t register what Barry is actually suggesting. “W- _what?”_

“For him to be where he grew up… where he has his few memories of.”

They can’t be serious. They can’t be taking Jesse away. _No –_ he’s lost enough. He won’t have it.

“Does… has he said he wants to?”

“We think it’s best.”

“But has he _said_ he wants to?”

Amy pokes her head around the corner and her face falls as she must immediately know what they’re talking about. “Andrew,” says Barry, “we think that Jesse will be more able to adjust at home. Among people and things that are more familiar to him. We think he’s scared here and-“

“But have _you_ talked to _him?_ Have you asked _him?_ ”

Amy looks at her husband awkwardly, but he stands his ground. “We are his parents – we know what is best.”

“But I’m his boyfriend – I have been for six years!”

“And you’re not anymore – at least not right now.”

He knows the words are true – there’s no way he’d expect Jesse to simply resume their relationship. But the thought that he’s _not_ Jesse’s boyfriend at _all h_ urts worse than he ever thought it could. It’s a bullet in the chest. His eyes fill with tears.

“Barry…” Amy murmurs.

“You can’t take him from me,” Andrew whispers, but it’s more of a plea than a protest.

“He needs somewhere he is safe, somewhere he’s comfortable – somewhere he knows. The only place, right now, is our home.”

“Have you asked him if he remembers anything else?”He’s desperate and he knows it. Because Jesse would have told him, right? Jesse wouldn’t hide things –not things like that.

“We have.”  
  
“And?”

The silence is enough of an answer.

“But wouldn’t a move be even more distressing to him?”

Again, that awkward sideways glance between mother and father before Barry speaks again. “We believe the benefits outweigh any possible risks. You must understand, Andrew-“

“I do understand! I understand that he’s an adult and you’re trying to make choices for him. I understand that I’m trying to support him, I’m trying to get any chance of rebuilding what we lost, I’m trying to deal with this, too, and you want to take him away from the person he loves, who loves him more than anything. I understand that I’m trying not to lose him altogether, that I’m trying to think of him and help him but you’re not thinking of me! He needs me…” he gasps. “what we had was special. It’s still there. He knows he whether he knows he knows or not.”

He pants, not sure if he’s trying to convince Jesse’s parents or himself. “Please.”

Amy finally speaks. “Andrew,” she whispers, resting a gentle hand on Andrew’s shoulder as Andrew looks away and squeezes his eyes tight in an effort not to cry. “I have no doubt that you are the perfect person for our son. But right now, he is confused and scared, and we think he would be able to relax much more easily in a place that he knows. He need as low stress of an environment as possible.”

“Then I’ll come. I’ll come with you.”

“Andrew…”

“We think you are putting the greatest amount of stress on him,” his father chimes in again.

“Me? I’ve been nothing but-“

“Being around you, simply, is freaking him out. He’s been trying to make sense of his whole life and come at him saying he was your boyfriend-“

“He was more than a boyfriend! We were lovers!” Andrew has a flashback to their very first fight. _“You’re stressing me out, Andrew. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I have to go for a while.”_

“And he can’t deal with that right now. Andrew, I am sorry. Maybe when he’s feeling more collected he’ll come back.”

“Has he told you any of this?”

Pause. “Yes.” And then both of them suddenly go silent, their faces straighten, and Andrew turns around to see Jesse looming there like a scared child.

“Jess…” he whispers and holds out his hand, but Jesse doesn’t take it – he scuttles around the corner and Andrew hears the bedroom door slam.

And everything just gets worse from there.

  
Dinner is too quiet and too awkward. Andrew cooks up a vegetable and potato dish but he doesn’t taste the food at all. He keeps looking at Jesse, hoping he’ll catch his eye, but Jesse doesn’t look up from his plate.

 _“Jesse! We can talk this out!”_

“Shut up, Andrew, no we can’t!” Jesse shoved his clothes in the duffel bag he’d snatched from the closet, one he hadn’t used since the last time he’d ridden on a plane almost a year ago.

 _“Jesse, Jes, Jes, please!”_

“It’s over, Andrew. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He forces himself to eat everything, but that later that night it comes right back up. It’s his last night with Jesse before his parents take him away. Granted, he won’t be that far, but still, he won’t be _here._

  
He looks into the bedroom and finds Jesse packing that same duffel bag with some belongings to take home. He watches Jesse pick up a frame on the dresser – a photo of he and Andrew and one of the cats – and stare at it. _Remember,_ he wills him with all his might. _Remember, Jesse, remember._ But he just sets it down as Andrew shuffles inside

“Jesse?”

He flinches, startled, head snapping towards the door. “H-hi.”

Andrew walks in slowly, trying to seem friendly. It’s like Jesse’s a pet that’s suddenly become untamed. “Jess,” he whispers, “you’re really leaving? You want to?”

“I’m sorry” Jesse says, sounding choked. “I can’t. I can’t be here, Andrew. Not with you.”

“I’ll do anything for you, Jesse!” Andrew cries, stepping towards him as Jesse steps back. “I want to be here for you. You know I’m not expecting you to… you know, anything right now. You can tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable. And I’ll stop!”

“Being around you makes me uncomfortable,” Jesse looks away as he says it, and it’s almost too soft to hear. But he says it.

They’ve always been relaxed with eachother. Always been happy in their own skin. Always been able to tell eachother anything. They’ve never hidden things from eachother. There was never doubt, never insecurity, no self-consciousness, or anything that plagued them in the hours away from eachother.

All of that is gone.

Andrew retreats, slowly, the words perpetually ringing in his mind. _You make me uncomfortable._ How did all this happen? What did he do to deserve it?

He thought they were okay. He thought Jesse was better and they’d work everything out and maybe, slowly, in the very best-case scenario, at least get back a little of what they had before.

How could he have been so blind?

He wants to hold Jesse. He wants to hug him, to kiss him, pull him in his arms and make everything better. But that’s not his place anymore.

If the best thing he can do for Jesse is back off he’ll do it, even if it destroys him.

“I love you, Jesse,” he whispers. “Even if you don’t love me right now or you don’t think you do… just please remember that. And… if you really have to be away from here, that’s okay. Just… I love you. Don’t forget that, okay?” He only realizes after the words leave his mouth how ironic they are.

oOo

  


Jesse leaves the next day. Andrew tries not to make a big scene of it, not wanting to put any more weight on Jesse’s shoulders than there already is. They have breakfast together at the table, as they do every morning, having cereal because neither of them feels like cooking, but they both know it’s not a normal morning. There’s palpable tension in the air, words left unsaid, promises broken, hearts broken. Andrew’s doing whatever he can to get through it without bursting into tears. He knows he only has a precious hour or two left with Jesse and he knows he can’t use it. An hour or two left with the love of his life and all he can do is stare at him wishing he could go back. He’s torn between wanting the clock to move slower and wanting him to leave already and just get this over with.

He’ll do whatever he can for him, even if that’s letting him go.

So he lets him go. He lets the best thing that’s ever happened to him walk out of his life. When Jesse’s parents come to take him off, back to their home, there’s nothing to say. Andrew gets his bag for him. He looks into Jesse’s face for the last time, trying to memorize those deep, blue eyes. But Jesse looks away.

When they’re gone, he falls into a crumpled heap on the floor, and it all comes out. Devastation at everything that’s been lost, everything that never will be again. Frustration with Jesse’s disability even though he knows it’s not his fault. Anger at the man who hit him. Anger at Jesse’s parents for taking him away. Anger at the _world_ for being so fucked up and not giving them a goddamn break. Angry at the paparazzi he knows will be all over this story and what they might do to Jesse. But mostly, he doesn’t try to sort through his emotions, doesn’t try to pinpoint what he’s feeling. He just cries.

It’s about eleven at night when Emma gets the call. She’s still awake and not doing anything of real interest, so she’s right next to the phone when it rings. She heard the story about Jesse the moment it was out, so she’s been busying herself with worrying about the two of them, and when she sees Andrew’s caller ID, she snatches it right up.

“Drew?!”

“Emmm-muh?”

“…Andrew?”

“Emm-uy-uhh.”

“…Jesus Christ, Andrew, are you drunk?”

“No, uh’not drunk, just…” there’s rustling on Andrew’s end of the line and the soft _thud_ that sounds like something being set down on a hard surface. “Mm’all alone, Emmuh.”

“..You’re alone? What? Where are you?”

“Home… you gotta come _ovvvurr,_ Emmuhh…”

“You’re… alone? Jesse’s not with you?”

There’s more shuffling on the other end, a _clunk_ and a loudly slurred curse from Andrew. “Jessuh’s _gooo_ ne, Emma… Jesse’s gone, he’s gone…”

“Gone?!” a panic runs through Emma’s body and she springs up off the couch. “What do you mean, gone, Andrew? Did he run away?”

“Mmmg, his p _aaaaa_ rents took’im…”

Andrew’s always been someone Emma admired as strong and free-willed, rarely giving into pressure and rarely letting something ruffle his feathers – or at least not outwardly showing it. He’s always someone she’s looked up to, so to hear him like this… it breaks her heart. The devastation in his voice is clear even through the haze of intoxication. “You gotta come over, Emmuh…” Andrew mumbles again, and then the phone slips from his hand and he doesn’t have it in him to pick it back up, so he lets it lie there until the call disconnects from the other end.

When Emma finds him, letting herself in with the key she has to Andrew’s apartment (since they’re always visiting eachother, he has one for hers too), he’s sprawled out across the kitchen tile, clothes wrinkled, hair a mess, a bottle lying on the floor beside him, but he doesn’t seem to care, and why should he? He looks and feels like death – in fact, at first glance, he looks _dead,_ but Emma hurries to his side and gently shakes him to attention. “Andrew… Andrew, for God’s sake.” She takes his wrist to pull him up from the floor and he flops, arm hanging from her hand.

She has to practically carry him over to a kitchen chair, letting him sag against it, bleary eyes scanning the room at a distance. He reaches for the green glass bottle on the counter, but she slaps his hand away and chucks it into the trash. “No.”

“Emma-“

“ _No._ Andrew…” she pulls another chair beside his and sits down, but she’s almost knocked over as soon as she does. Andrew’s slumped against her, and he’s crying again, loudly, drunkenly, wetly against her chest. A grown man, _sobbing_ right in her arms. She almost crumbles, too, just from seeing him like this, but holds on, knowing she has to be strong for him.

“They _took_ him, Emma!” Andrew wails. “They took him from me, he said he wanted to go and they took him and he’s _gooooneee!_ I love him, Emmmaaaa…!”

Emma’s only seen Andrew cry once before and that was also over Jesse, the first (and only) time they broke up. He’s always so strong, he always has a wall between himself and even the people he’s closest with, including her; everyone but Jesse, really, and it’s so strange (and heartbreakingly terrifying) to see him like this.

“Andrew…” Emma wraps her arms around his shoulders so she can hold him, so she can at least be there of nothing else, and for the second time that day he lets the waterworks go.

oOo

“Jesse?”

“Hallie!”

Jesse races into his little sister’s arm the moment he sees her in the kitchen at their old home. His last memory of her is as a teenager, and he’s amazed to find her now as a blossoming young woman, but God, she is as beautiful as ever.

He holds onto her as tight as he can, needing the comfort, needing contact. The past few days have been terrifying, confusing, overwhelming, and he needs something familiar to grasp. He blocks any thoughts of Andrew out of his mid, because it _is_ better to be here at home, where at least he knows who and what and where everything is. “Jesse, my _God,_ are you okay?”

“I’m managing, Hal,” he croaks as he pulls back from the hug to look at her (because really, that’s all he’s doing. Managing, getting by. Barely). “It… it’ll be good to be back here. At home.”

“I’m staying here with you guys for a little bit,” Hallie says, looking at Jesse with such love and empathy and still that little bit of innocence that his heart cracks again. “until you’re better.”

  
Once Jesse’s settled in with his things in his old bedroom (he vaguely remembers blue walls and maple furniture, but it’s cream and oak now) they gather on the couch in the sitting room. Hallie sits beside Jesse, a gentle hand rested on his and he’s grateful for the comfort. His parents sit on either side of them, his mother holding an old, thick leather photo album. On the cover, a family photo. “As we go through these,” Amy says, “you tell us what you remember, okay?”

The album, like most, is in chronological order, starting with baby pictures of himself and Hallie. Photos of family vacations that he vaguely remembers if he’s old enough; trips to the beach, to Mexico, to Disneyworld.

A picture of very young Hallie on the shoulders of a cast member of _Paulie,_ among a few others. He does remember that.

School photos. He and Hallie standing at the top of the crown of the Statue of Liberty, probably at about twelve years old. He has a foggy memory of the view from up there, how you could see for what looked like _miles_ and _miles._

A school science fair. He remembers making a vinegar-and-baking soda volcano on the kitchen table with his dad, as a young child, amazed at how you could mix a powder and a liquid and get _bubbles. P_ ictures of him on a swingset at a park, on a slip-n-slide during the summer. He remembers how wonderful sliding through the cool water felt on one of those blisteringly hot days.

He watches himself grow older in the photos, sees scenes from plays _Annie and Oliver_ and _Summer and Smoke._ He has as good a memory of these as anyone might, them being so long ago. His high school graduation photo.

And then there is him on movie sets – _Cursed, The Squid and The Whale._ Even if there are things he can’t remember right away, as he looks through the album, they slowly start to come back to him, like looking over an old yearbook from high school and just having a vague recollection of those years all lumped together. _Charlie Banks, The Living Wake._ Pictures of him with cast members, pieces of scripts, letters, plane tickets and the like.

But when they get to _Holly Rollers,_ that’s where everything stops. That’s where, no matter how hard he tries, no memories can come back to him. He doesn’t recognize the guys standing with him in the pictures, making him laugh and looking like they’re having a jolly good time.

  
And then they get to the _Social Network_ era and Jesse has to close his throat up to keep a cry from escaping. There are countless pictures of he and Andrew, many more than there were of any others. And they look so _happy_ in all of them. Pictures of them on-set and off, Hallie and his parents help him with the names of the people he doesn’t recognize. Armie, Justin, David, Aaron.

“Can I… take this to my room? Look at it alone?” Jesse asks before they can go much further, and of course, everyone is sympathetic. He takes the photo and hurries up to his bedroom, shoving his bag aside before sitting down on the newly-made bed. It’s the same detergent he always smelled as a kid and it brings back another flurry of memories.

 _He’s remembering. He’s remembering._

But there’s still no Andrew in there.

He looks over the pictures, running his finger over the clear plastic covers that protect them. In the beginning, there’re pictures of he and Andrew on-set in their character costumes, Andrew in some ridiculous Hawaiian hat and lei. Andrew’s always touching him in some way: an arm over his shoulder or around his waist, or just brushing his arm or his hair. In just about every picture of them together, they’re both smiling ear-to-ear. Something in Jesse’s stomach flutters when he sees that look on Andrew’s face, something in his chest gets a little tight.

Magazine covers and articles – _wait, what? He was nominated for an Oscar_? – and interviews. Some positive reviews of his performance in the movie. More photos of he and Andrew, and he can almost see the progression of the relationship through the pictures: Andrew getting closer and closer to him, having both arms wrapped around his waist. A kiss on the cheek, first from Andrew to Jesse, then from Jesse to Andrew.

And then there’s another magazine article, but this one’s different. It’s a two-page spread, and plastered across the top of the article, right in his face, is a picture of he and Andrew. He and Andrew kissing. The headline says **_The newest Hollywood couple: Eisenfield!_**

Eisenfield, huh? That’s… cute.

Granted, it’s not a graphic kiss but it’s still two men, two famous actors having at it, the moment blown up and pasted here for everyone to see. ‘ _Social Network’ stars Andrew Garfield and Jesse Eisenberg recently shocked the world…_

He reads over the article, breathing shakily, but he doesn’t process the words and soon they begin to blur over the page and then it’s just black, and finally, simply from his sheer exhaustion, sweet, sweet sleep.

  


oOo

Andrew wakes up the next morning to find himself in his bed, though he doesn’t remember getting here at all. The lights coming in from the window burn his eyes and bore back into his aching head. He clutches his forehead and rakes his hands through his hair with a pained whimper, pulling the covers over his head and peeking around the room from beneath them.

There’s a cup of water on his sidetable, sitting on top of a plate with two little pills. Emma must have left them for him last night – oh, God, he just now remembers last night. He’d gotten drunk, for the first time in, well… ever, and must have looked like a total mess. He wants to apologize to Emma, but where is she?

Everything feels so much more empty without Jesse. He’s not in the bed and he’s not in the kitchen and he’s not even in the city.

He forces himself to sit up and take the pills Emma’s left for him when he realizes there are noises coming from the kitchen. For a split second he thinks it might be Jesse, that the previous day was all a dream, but it’s just Emma. Did she spend the night here? Just for him?

She looks over to the doorway as he stumbles into the kitchen, every little noise and every sudden movement of his head sending a jolt of pain through his skull. “Em?”

“Andrew,” Emma smiles, as if it’s perfectly normal for her to be standing in his kitchen making breakfast. “Hey, Andy, you take the medicine I left for you?” He nods and she gestures to the table. He sits down, leaning into his hands and tugging lightly at his hair while Emma finishes up the pancakes and eggs, setting a loaded plate in front of him. She rests a hand on her shoulder and Andrew realizes how long it’s been since he’s had human contact and how desperate he is for it. “Hey, Andrew, you’ve got to eat, okay? I’m not leaving, even if you want me to. I’m going to help you get through this, and I’m going to help you get Jesse back. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

END PART IV  


  



	5. in which some hope is found

Soundtrack for this chapter: [Wolftron - _Leave This Place_](http://marlinsandthetrout.tumblr.com/post/4296750261/wolftron-leave-this-place)

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](http://marlinsandthetrout.tumblr.com/post/4296750261/wolftron-leave-this-place)   


As promised, Emma didn’t leave Andrew until that evening. She stuck with him all day, making sure he got a hold of himself after the _nasty_ hangover. He now remembers why he never drank much when he was younger; he’s a bit of a lightweight, and he can’t even remember what he did last night. He probably made a total idiot of himself but he doesn’t want to ask.

Once he’d taken medicine for his headache, she had forced him to sit down at the table and eat three whole pancakes and a small plate of eggs. (He threw these up quickly after, in response to which she only forced him to sit back down and eat some more until he can hold it in).

“I’m not _hungry_ , Emma,” he protested, groaning miserably and clutching his stomach as he sagged back against the chair, not caring less about good posture. The floor below him looked so comfortable, and he slipped lower and lower until he nearly slid onto the floor and Emma had to hoist him back up straight. She forcibly held his shoulders still from behind him until he reluctantly began to fork it into his mouth, moaning overdramatically, and she stayed there until he ate it all. But he didn’t taste it, and all he felt was the angry churning of his stomach with each additional bite forced down there.

Still hungover and hardly able to walk straight, she then had to almost literally drag him into the bathroom as he flopped and flailed helplessly after her. “You need to shower,” she said, to which Andrew only tilted his head back and expressed his distaste for the suggestion with a grumble. So she’d had to take matters into her own hands, turning the shower on, stripping him and pushing him inside. He’d stood there, staring down at his feet as if he wasn’t sure where he was. It was pathetic, disgusting and heartbreaking. “ _Wash_ yourself, Andrew,” she’d had to say, forcing herself to be firm to get Andrew to listen to her. He’d picked up the loofa, inspecting it like _he_ was the one with amnesia before slowly lathering his body.

When he’d climbed out, she’d dressed him again and finally left him alone to sleep. When he woke up again, later that evening, his apartment had been cleaned, and she was still sitting on his couch, idly flicking through television channels, waiting for him to awaken. She’d even made dinner for him as he’d slept through lunch.

It was wonderful to have her around. He didn’t think he’d be able to bear the silence of being alone. Everything around him reminded him of Jesse, everything from a pair of shoes by the door from the lingering scent of cinnamon from the air freshener he loved to use. And she’s being so kind and helpful to him despite his offering nothing in return.

He avoids the internet at all costs, doesn’t turn his computer on once, knows it’ll be all over AOL and Yahoo and the like. He doesn’t go to work – he’s gotten some time off, anyway; how could he possibly be expected to go in?

There’s a boatload of mail waiting for him already. From all over the country, all over the _world_ , offering gifts, cards, kind words, moral support. He knows he’ll have to make some kind of statement. He just hopes they leave Jesse alone. Why does he have to be famous at a time like this?

But Emma finally left him that evening after making sure he’d eaten dinner (an extra big one since he missed lunch) and now she’s gone. He’s recovered now, and it makes him want to cry again how much she cares and how awful he’s been. And when he tries to apologize, she won’t hear it, just squeezes his shoulder and kisses his cheek and assures him that she’s there for him. Which only makes him feel that much worse.

He leaves the unopened mail in a heap on the kitchen table and snatches his coat off the hook, zipping it up bunching the hood around his chin. He shoves his hands in his pockets and hurries out the door, immediately bombarded by guys in coats with big flashing cameras. Doesn’t _anyone_ have any respect around here?

He hurries by them without looking up, heading for his car. Before he gets in, he looks back, once, lifts his hand up and gives all the cameras the middle finger. How’s _that_ for a statement?

 _Away, away, away._ He’s got to get away. Anywhere, as long as it’s not here. He wipes the remnants of tears from his eyes and starts the car, tearing away from the city.

oOo

After not being able to fall asleep until six oclock in the morning, Jesse finally wakes up around five in the evening. His body _really_ needed the sleep but he doesn’t feel very rested. The evening sunlight’s blaring right through his window at him like it’s angry at him too (even though no one shows it, it’s obvious they’re not happy. They’re fed up with him for intruding on their lives, angry at him for not remembering, for being so stupid on his bike. He’s fucked too many things up and the more he hears _it’s not your fault, Jesse_ and _no one’s blaming you, Jesse,_ the more guilty he feels. What’s he done to poor Andrew? He was taking the easy way out, by leaving, but he’s only helping himself and hurting everyone else).

He sits up with a groan, not wanting to move at all. He looks down at his elbow and picks at one of the scabs, ripping the dry clotted blood in one swift movement, hissing as the wound reopens. He watches the blood run down, coating his elbow in a metallic red in some morbid fascination, not even feeling the pain from the injury.

How much has he hurt this man? He knows, deep down, that what he’s been told is true. That he and Andrew had a deep… sexual relationship. That Andrew was hopelessly devoted to him – still _is_ – and that he was to Andrew as well. But how could memories like that just _vanish?_ If a total stranger came up to you and said you used to be in love, what would _you_ do?

No matter how much he tries to convince himself, the guilt is suffocating. It’s like he _murdered_ someone, and he may as well have.

He probably shouldn’t. He _really_ shouldn’t, but when he hears familiar light footsteps in the hall, he calls “Hallie?”

His sister pokes her head through the door immediately. “Jess, you’re up. What is it?”

“Can I borrow your laptop?”

 

oOo  


  
The cold air pinches and nips at his arms as Andrew stands at the top of the hill, looking out over the city lights just starting to glow in the dim evening light. His leather jacket isn’t doing much by ways of providing warmth, but he barely feels the chill against his skin. January’s nearly over, but February is always the coldest month of the year, so he’s bracing himself for more to come. He’s almost hoping for a snowstorm because that would give him a reason to stay cooped up in his apartment. But that would have too many memories carried with it too.

Andrew holds a cigarette between his fingers – something he hasn’t picked up since he was in high school. The smoke’s hot and bitter in his throat, but each drag sends a little calming wave through him, fuzzing everything out and making the bad things seeming just a little less bad – or at least more manageable. He closes his eyes and blows a puff of smoke out of his mouth, shoulders rising and falling with a deep calming breath. His shoulders shake with a shiver when there’s a soft gust of wind, and though he knows he could catch pneumonia out here, it doesn’t much bother him. Not anymore. Physical discomfort doesn’t matter to him anymore.

Looking out at the city, able to see his apartment complex from here, he’s almost able to pretend he’s on the outside of all this. To look down at the source of his problems with a sense of disconnection, like someone watching a movie. It’s so good to be away from the noises of the city, the crowds of bodies, prying eyes and be able to just _breathe._

He has to believe that Jesse will get his memory back. He has to believe because if he doesn’t, life will stop. Jesse _is_ his life. A future without Jesse isn’t a future at all. It’s unimaginable. So he has to keep telling himself, he has to keep believing that everything will be better _one day._ Because ‘one day’ means he can keep waiting. He can keep hoping. He can keep going on because _one day_ is still going to happen. And that’s a whole lot better than ‘never’.  
  


oOo

  
It’s not hard to find the video. All he has to do is search ‘Jesse and Andrew’ on youtube and he getsmillion copies of the same video.

 **  
_JESSE EISENBERG AND ANDREW GARFIELD GAY?!_   
**

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JEWNICORNS ARE REAL!!   
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**

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JESSE AND ANDREW COME OUT!!   
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**

**  
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THEY’RE GAY!!   
_   
**

He wonders if he should be doing this, subjecting himself to more pain and guilt. But he’s responsible for this, too, he needs to at least get an idea of how much he’s hurt Andrew by deserting him.

He clicks on the first video, and it comes in with some dying out laughter after some joke he doesn’t get to hear. He watches himself shift awkwardly on the couch – the boys are on _Ellen –_ beside Andrew. They’re sitting together in the middle of the couch, so close that their thighs are touching, even though bothends are free. Andrew begins to talk first, resting his hand on top of Jesse’s as does and if that doesn’t clue the audience in to what he’s about to say he doesn’t know what else could. “Though Ellen,” says Andrew in his oddly soothing accent, as Jesse watches his own form shift and gnaw at the corner of his lip. “There is something that we wanted to come here to talk about today. Other than the movie.”

Yes, Jesse and Andrew had been cast in another movie together, and it had been a glorious experience. Their relationship had flourished, and with the release date having just passed, so had their popularity as actors. But both of them had been feeling like they were living a lie, hiding their relationship from everyone for the past two years.

Ellen could probably sense it already. It takes one to know one, of course, and she raised her eyebrows at them in almost endearingly. “Jesse and I,” Andrew begins, and the whole room is silent. Someone coughs, and it’s a loud sound. “well, I’ve talked about my relationship with him at length. But… there’s one thing that we’ve been keeping from you. All this time.” Oh, yes, if it wasn’t obvious what they were going to say before it is now.

The camera zooms in on them and Jesse looks incredibly nervous, but also determined, confident, and almost happy about their secret about to finally come out. Andrew’s expressions are harder to read, but his eyes skim the audience like he’s preparing to have rotten tomatoes thrown at him.

“Jesse and I…” he repeats, like he’s not quite sure what to say. He pauses, lips parted mid-word. And then suddenly he turns, taking Jesse’s face between both of his hands and kissing him, hard, right there.

The crowd goes _insane._ There’s gasping, shrill shrieks, bellowing, shouting and the camera’s zoomed in right on their lips. It’s not too deep of a kiss for the sake of maintaining decency on national television, but it’s a long one, and passionate. When it breaks, everyone’s still screaming, Ellen looks like she might fall off her chair and Jesse’s jaw is shaking, looking like he might pass out. Andrew wraps his arm around his shoulders and takes his hand.

He watches his own terrified face stare at the camera and he has to keep telling himself that this is _him._ This is how he and Andrew came out. Andrew kissed him on live television. He’s never seen someone do something so brave. A vision flits through his head, just for a split second, of Andrew’s face, Andrew’s face so close to his, of the gold of his eyes and the pink of his lips and the--

There’s a knock on the door then and he jumps, hurrying to pause the video but he can’t quite maneuver the mouse to the button in time before Hallie sticks her head in again. “Hey, Jes, it’s time for – hey, what’s wrong?”

Is he crying? He’s just now aware of wetness on his face and he hurriedly reaches to wipe the tears away. “I — n-nothing.”

Hallie doesn’t buy it, of course. She gingerly sits down beside Jesse and Jesse looks away shamefully, the video still paused on a close-up of them, staring around like deer in the headlights. “That was all over national TV for weeks,” she informs him gently, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Jesse hasn’t cried yet. He’s let a couple tears fall from fear and frustration, but he hasn’t really let it out. Hallie’s arm around him, the physical affection he’s been craving and needing but that he’s been pushing away, finally makes him break. Guilt, shame, frustration, anger (mostly with himself) and fear all just come pouring out, but Hallie’s surprisingly strong arms keep him held together. He’s so overwhelmed and confused that he thinks his body may even break apart, limbs falling off in all directions, if Hallie’s not there to keep him intact.

“He loves me,” Jesse whispers shakily once he’s stopped crying, after Hallie’s been patiently holding him for about ten minutes. She’s still very young, but God is she strong and wise beyond her years. Jesse trusts her with his life.

It doesn’t need to be said who he’s talking about. “Yeah, he does.”

“And I love him?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

God, Jesse doesn’t know. “I want to remember, Hallie!” he whispers. “I know I used to love him – before. I don’t know if I…”

“You still do.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you, Jesse. I watched you fall in love with him. I listened to you ramble about him for hours and I listened to Andrew do the same. Real love – and what you had with him _was real –_ doesn’t just go away. What’s in your heart doesn’t go away.”

“You said he’s talked about me?”

“He has.”

“What’s he said?”

“He’s said…” Hallie slips a hand through Jesse’s rumpled hair. “He’s said that you’re beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.He’s said that you seem to be the only one to _get_ him. He’s said that you’re brilliant, funny and witty, beautiful and charming, that he can’t help but be happy around you, that you’re the reason he gets up in the morning, that he just wants to love you and protect you from everything bad in the world….”

Jesse’s crying again by the time she’s done and he doesn’t try to stop himself. He wraps his arm around Hallie’s waist, pressing his face into her shoulder and letting the tears fall. She doesn’t mind, she holds onto him and lets him let it all out.

  
oOo

  
Andrew’s passed out on the couch again, the following day, when Emma lets herself into the apartment, announcing her arrival with the door slamming behind her. Andrew’s not fully awake before something’s chucked at him, landing on his chest; it’s _People_ Magazine, and right on the cover is the image of him flipping off the paparazzi.

He sits up, rubbing his hand over his face, tugging at the corners of his eyelids and dragging it down to his mouth. He blinks at the cover, not recognizing himself for a moment. He’s glaring at the cameras with a look that even scares himself and the gesture he’s making with his finger is obvious. It’s a good thing he’s not in the process of filming a movie at this time and neither is Jesse or that would have all gone kaput. They’d both decided to take a break from acting, get real jobs and settle down together for a while. Andrew, not able to stop acting, had guest starred on several television shows, Jesse had been in a play, but nothing too spectacular.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, and leafs through the magazine to find the article just to see what they’re saying about this. _Andrew Garfield’s showed his face outside his apartment for the first time since Jesse’s accident…_

God dammit. That’s as far as he can read. “Awesome,” he snarls, throwing the magazine down on the coffee table. “Just fucking _awesome."_ None of these people actually care about his wellbeing, or about Jesse, they’re just using this as a story, something to make readers and money off of. He and Jesse aren’t real people but sources for entertainment. Morbid, disgusting, inhuman entertainment. They’re all _vultures_.  
   


oOo

  
  
It snows. Jesse throws on some sweats and a hoodie, wrapping a scarf around his neck and the bottom half of his face. He heads outside, and he isn’t recognized. He’s always liked the snow, and he still loves it now. He shuffles along the sidewalk and watches the flakes fall before his face, even tries to catch one on his tongue once or twice. It’s so good to be out of the house, away from his overly concerned parents, being able to breathe fresh air.

It’s cold. It’s really fucking cold but he tolerates it, likes it even, because it’s better than being at home. He’s crossing a patch of the sidewalk that hasn’t been shoveled and as his feet sink into the ice a sudden image flicks through his head of him running through snow with flipflops on and – doing that a whole bunch of times.

He leans against the wall and closes his eyes, letting memories flow back without trying to stop them. He remembers himself standing outside some building in the freezing fucking cold and – _Andrew –_ in a beachy flannel and a straw hat and he’s talking about… Facebook or something…

Fucking _shit_ , it’s cold. The memories start blending into eachother like a scene in a movie and he lets them. They’re all out of order, a white Christmas when he was a child, snowball fights, a storm that left the power out for four days and forced his family to stay at a hotel, a snowball fight in a parking lot with… with Andrew.

And then there are more. Hitting him like a bombarding of snowballs. Memories, memories, memories. Lots of them, each one bleeding into another like a montage at the end of a summer movie. Memories. _Memories._  


oOo

  
The phone ringing in the kitchen jars Andrew out of his thoughts. He’s been making himself dinner, alone again, or rather he’s been adding hot milk to a vat of Easy-Mac, eyes only half open, like he’s a college student again. ‘ _Call from – Hallie Eye-sssen-burrggg’_ a monotone, robotic voice informs him and he makes a face as he shuffles over to pick up the receiver. Why would Hallie be calling him?

If it’s good news, he’s eager to hear it. He races to the phone and snatches the receiver up but he tries not to let himself get too excited. “Hello? Hallie?”

“Andrew!”

“Hey! Hallie! I-ah-h-h…how’s Jesse??” He’s so excited to hear from her he can barely talk straight.

“Jesse, actually,” Hallie says, and Andrew braces himself for bad news, white-knuckling the phone against his ear. “I have some good news for you, Andrew.”

Andrew’s heart leaps out of his chest but he forces it back down inside, his whole body trembling with anticipation as he stutters out “W-w-what?”

“He’s gotten back his first memory of you.”

 **end part v**   


A/N: I want to make a playlist for this fic, so if anyone has a song suggestion, comment!  
Also, COMMENT, COMMENT, COMMENT. Please! Anonymous commenting is on so there's no excuse :) Your guys' support is what gets me through a hard day and I want to THANK YOU.

 

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	6. in which Andrew becomes an author

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/maybecatie/pic/0001xzee/)

  


It snows. Emma comes over before the storm hits with packets of Oreos and Ramen Noodles and some Chinese takeout and a pizza, and a stack full of rented movies. It makes Andrew smile even now – she always knows just what to do. Now that Jesse’s beginning to remember, he doesn’t feel so crushed and he’s eager to be able to smile.

They watch bad comedies on the couch with a blanket thrown over them and pig out on Sour Patch and Red Vines and vegetable fried rice. They laugh at the jokes, stuff themselves without caring about weight or calories and it’s so good to just let everything go for a while. The weight of Jesse’s tragedy slowly slips off his shoulders. He feels guilty about it at first, like he shouldn’t be having fun while Jesse’s still suffering, but he needs the break so bad that he lets that thought slip.

They get six inches overnight and Emma’s stuck at his house the next day as her apartment isn’t in walking distance and the roads are surely not navigable.

They go into the courtyard and have a snowball fight in the new, powdery snow. Andrew laughs, for the first time in two weeks. It feels _good._

But then Emma’s gone and he’s back in his lonely, cluttered apartment filled with reminders of what was and what could have been and what never will be again and there’s nothing to distract him from them.

Jesse hasn’t remembered anything else. About him, at least. He and his family sat down with the scrapbook again and this time his memory just went a _little_ farther; he could recall the names of a few of the people in the photos and maybe even where they were taken and what they’d been doing at the time of the snapshot. But everything still stopped _just_ before he’d met Andrew like a section of a harddrive on a computer that had just been wiped out.

Jesse knows he should remember. He knows the things Andrew tells him, about how they used to be, are true, and he _should_ remember. But it’s like the distant aunt that runs up to you at the family reunion cooing“the last time I saw you, you were _this_ tall!” Jesse knows he’s important, he _wants_ to remember but he just can’t call anything up – except that one memory, the one of the snowball fight. Andrew wonders what he felt significant about that moment enough to recall it, among all others. It’s driving him crazy.

It’s at least a glimmer of hope and he clings to it as much as he possibly can.But when he doesn’t hear from anyone in Jesse’s family again for two more days, that hope begins to slip away. Two days of loneliness, wondering, self-pitying agony. Food wrappers and dirty bowls collect on the coffee table and around his bed because he can’t be assed to move them and when he’s not eating or staring mindlessly at the television at four in the morning, he’s sleeping, sprawled out on the bed or the couch and drooling all over himself.

He wears Jesse’s shirts, taken from the laundry he hasn’t done yet. They smell like him, some of them have a few of his hairs on them and he doesn’t feel so alone.

Andrew wishes Emma could be there with him all the time but she’s got a life and that would of course be selfish. And he’s dragged enough people into this already.

Andrew digs one of many new sketchbooks out of the closet. He used to draw all the time – he’s got old, worn notebooks piled in the back of his closet in varied conditions -but he hasn’t much since he met Jesse. It used to be something he did when he was depressed, but with Jesse in his life there hasn’t been much of that.

He finds his old set of watercolor pencils, rubbed down to their stubs in their use but having barely seen the light of day in years. Two out of twenty-four of them are missing and another, the black one, is almost too short to use. But that’s okay.

Andrew sits on the bed and flips up the cover. A smooth, white page stares him in the face, the paper blank and cool and unmarked. No margin, no markings – an infinite plane. The first page – so full of possibilities and somehow intimidating. So much room to create. He grabs a tan colored pencil and drags his hand across the paper in an arc. He snatches up a darker brown, scribbling skewed lines, tracing and shading and scribbling without a pause, hand dragging and scraping and sweeping over the paper, only stopping to look over it when he’s finished.

It’s a rough likeness, skewed and sloppy but he’s working purely from memory and he’s not really that great of an artist. Jesse’s shaggy curls are hard to get right, and the shapes of his nose and jaw, but Andrew rubs the color on with no prerequisite sketch.

The eyes are the hardest part – Jesse’s lagoon-blue and sea-deep eyes. Andrew can’t capture the color with such a limited selection and he can’t quite put on paper the way the sunlight bounces off Jesse’s eyes and casts a golden glow over his face. But at least Andrew knows it’s him.

He finishes the portrait and does another.

And another.

And another.

And then he starts to write.

He writes to Jesse. Filling the paper with his quick pointed scrawl, he calls back every detail that he can and records it, writing small to fit as much on the page as possible, but he still winds up using quite a few. _Everything_ he can remember; it’s a detailed account of the first time they met, as precise and clear as he can recall.

 _We met sometime in the fall at the table reading for The Social Network,_ he writes. _I can honestly say that I loved you the first time I saw you. I’d never met you before, but I’d seen Zombieland previously and I’d decided to watch some other of your movies before meeting you. You seemed nervous when you introduced yourself, and I thought you were the cutest, sweetest thing I’d ever seen._

You said, “Hi. I’m Jesse Eisenberg, it’s nice to meet you. Only, you can just call me Jesse.” You shook my hand. And you were so warm.

At the table reading, going over our lines for the first time, you seemed jumpy, guarded, like you were afraid they’d suddenly deem you unsuitable and revoke the part. You always were your own worst critic.

I looked you up when I got home. Scoured Youtube. You fascinated me and I didn’t even know why. You seemed so fragile and defensive and I wanted to know who had hurt you. I wanted to see through that wall to the real Jesse. I already knew I was gay at that point, though I hadn’t come out yet to anyone except my parents and my closest friends – certainly not Hollywood. And maybe I was crushing just a little. I tried to stop myself because I was sure you were perfectly straight and I didn’t want to weird you out or ruin the amazing friendship we were developing. But I couldn’t help but watch you from across the table, chewing on the end of a pencil when you weren’t speaking, your face all creased when you scribbled lines in the margins, listening to David and Aaron’s directions. I remember those three weeks very well.

Over those weeks, I learned more about you than five-minute clips could ever teach me. You told me about your cats, Marius and Simba, about your love of Broadway plays and Russian history. We’d go for lunch after the rehearsals and you always seemed to have something witty to say about everything. You’d always make me laugh and I’d always be looking forward to being able to talk to you because you were the most wonderful conversationalist I’d ever known, even if you stuttered even more than you do now – I thought it was adorable.

Whenever we parted ways I found myself feeling depressed and cheated. I wanted more of you – always more. You hated your own appearance but I thought you were gorgeous. I thought you were brilliantly smart, brilliantly talented in the way I could see you slipping into Mark’s character even then. I thought you were hilariously funny in only the best way. I also knew you were lonely and insecure, and I wanted to protect you from everything bad in the world. I still do.

Then we moved in together. This was hard for me, because I was already falling in love with you more and more every day.

You would drive me to the set every morning, because I only had a Vespa. You were, and still are, a terrible driver (although you have gotten better.) You’d drive in the parking lane and honk at elderly people and you were convinced that everyone on the road was out to get you and only you.

It was hard for me, because we’d be best friends in the car and then we’d have to go and film a scene where we were not friends at all. You’d be the sweet, bubbly, fidgety, grinning Jesse that I loved and then you’d be this icy, hardened Mark Zuckerberg with that cold, cold stare. It was fascinating to watch you slip into a character, how you knew how to manipulate every muscle in your face to show the right expressions. And I could tell it wasn’t fake – in those times, you weren’t my Jesse anymore. You were Mark. And I wasn’t your Andrew either, I was Eduardo, your once-best friend.

But then, when the take was over, you’d be my Jesse again. I’d watch as you closed your eyes and your shoulders would relax like a string had been cut. Mark’s essence would slip out of you and you’d be Jesse again. But the car rides home, especially after an emotionally trying scene, would be more quiet, we’d each be a little more reserved and on some nights we wouldn’t talk to eachother at all, but we’d make Cup Noodles and sit on the couch watching Whose Line Is It Anyway and that was enough for me, at the time. I knew it’d be selfish to ask for anything more. But that didn’t mean that, at night, when you were away in your own bedroom and I was in mine with my face pressed into a pillow, it didn’t hurt.

I tried to stop it, I tried to squash my own feelings, but love is an unstoppable force, and the heart doesn’t ever listen to the brain. I tried not to laugh so hard at your jokes. I tried to push my stomach back down when it started doing little flips whenever you sat beside me on the couch and our legs touched, when our shoulders would brush each-other’s in that tiny hallway. ‘He’s not even gay’, I told myself. I’d always had a problem of getting too attached to things too fast, and then being crushed when they left me. I knew that was inevitable in this case. But you were like a fucking truck that came speeding into my life and I didn’t have time to jump out of the way. So I let you take me along for the ride.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/maybecatie/pic/0001ygbd/)

_  
_He doesn’t intend to show Jesse the book – doesn’t think he’ll get a chance to. He’s not entirely sure why he’s doing it, like a letter to Jesse that he’ll never receive. It’s for his own benefit, too, calling back all those fuzzy memories and writing them down until they all start to come back to him. If anything, it’s a reminder to himself of how much he loves his Jesse.

 _You were impossible to escape, Jesse. You pulled me in and I couldn’t pull back and I was falling more and more in love with you every day. I thought you couldn’t love me back – you, as Mark Zuckerberg, couldn’t love me, you, as Jesse the perfectly straight male couldn’t love me. It hurt more than anything but also just getting to know you was the best experience I could ever ask for._

Maybe, though, someday, if Jesse wants him to, he’ll give it to Jesse so he can have all their memories saved in a nice little book (though there’d be no way to capture every single cherished moment on the one-hundred-twenty pages. No way to fully capture the magic of their time together and the true gold of all those millions of moments).

 _So we lived together, we drove to and from set together and watched movies on the couch and ate fast food and boxed mac and cheese and ramen. I drove you around the cities on my scooter and we went to the restaurants and tried the special dishes and seafood of the cities we were in. Secretly, in my own head, I’d be pretending we were on a real date. I’d wrap my arm around your waist and I’d wish I could hold your hand. I’d whisper something in your ear and wish I could press my lips to yours._

Andrew loves Jesse. He loves him so much it physically hurts, whenever he thinks of Jesse and what they’ve lost he gets a stabbing pain in his stomach and a burning in his eyes and he has to sit down. Or fall down. All he’s ever wanted is for them to make a life together, not because he wanted Jesse to himself but because he thought he could give Jesse the world, he thought he could be there for Jesse to make him smile all the time. That smile, that toothy, shiny-eyed Jesse smile is all that makes life okay.

He has to stop writing and he stares down at the blurring words on the page, blinking his eyes to flush out the tears. He has an impulse to rip it out and crumple it up, but he can’t do it. Instead, he tosses the sketchbook aside and buries his face in his hands. What the hell is h doing?

He doesn’t just want Jesse to be his. All he wants, really, is for Jesse to be happy and that’s what hurts the most about this, is that Jesse, his Jesse, was hit by a fucking car and he’s in _pain._ As much pain as Andrew is – maybe even more, and he can’t forget that either.

Jesse’s with his parents. He’s with people he knows he loves, in a place that isn’t scary to him. As mad as he is at Barry and Amy for taking him away, he knows why they did it. And they were right. He wants Jesse to be safe. He wants Jesse to move on from this and be happy again.

If Jesse doesn’t want it back, what they had, if Jesse’s happier letting himself forget then trying to rebuild it….

Andrew sets the book down and throws his fist at the wall and then screams in pain, falling to the floor and clutching his knuckles, curling over himself and glaring blearily at the broken drywall. He’ll have to fix that. Again. And his hand – _fuck._ Fuck, he – _shit._ It feels like he broke a finger. He can’t bend it. He is so _stupid._

If Jesse doesn’t want him anymore, he won’t chase him. He can’t be selfish anymore. He has to let Jesse recover however he wants to – if Jesse wants him back, if he wants to remember him, he’ll be there. There’s a closed door between them now and Andrew will be waiting on the other side with his arms open but he won’t try to push. 

He loves Jesse.

 _You have to let him cope however he can._

 _ If you love something, let it go. _

_ And he’s not anymore. Not right now. _

_ Being around you makes me uncomfortable. _

I can’t be here, Andrew. Not with you.  
  
He makes his choice. He lets Jesse go.

He calls Emma – again. She picks up on the second ring and he can hear her sigh as she greets him. “Andrew?” There seems to be a ‘what now?’ she didn’t add to that and Andrew gulps painfully but he needs her because there’s no way he can drive.

“I – um. Em, I need you to take me to the hospital.”

“ _What-?_ ”

“I broke my finger.”

She sighs, and he can see her face-palming on the other side of the line. “How did you do _that,_ Andrew?” She’s annoyed, not concerned. He can tell. He thinks of hanging up and trying to drive with one hand or walking to the hospital or attempting to use his scooter but all of those would probably result in a more _serious_ trip to the hospital.

Maybe that’d be best for everyone.

“I - I punched the wall?”

It sounds ridiculous now. She sighs and says “I’ll be right there, Drew,” and hangs up. Andrew sits back against the bed, cradling one hand in the other, resting his head on the mattress and looking loathingly up at the textured ceiling. Everything hurts.

As promised, she arrives at his door in just under twenty minutes. She doesn’t even bother to use the doorbell but lets herself right in, and when Andrew looks up she’s standing in front of him with her hands on her hips and a face that says ‘get up’.

His finger – his right middle finger – is definitely broken. At the hospital, they put a splint on it and bandage it and give him some medicine and they’re off again.

Emma volunteers to stay with Andrew another night, bless her soul. But Andrew needs to stop being a pussy and needs to stop being a burden on other people, so he refuses.

He cleans himself off and fixes the wall. He calls his workplace to tell them he’s ready to come in again and he pulls himself together. He cuts the strings, glues over the cracks and sews up the tears inside of him, and he forces himself to move on. He pushes Jesse far away, stuffs him into a little box and locks it and hides theA key and he’ll only open it when it’s appropriate.

He goes to work the next day. He sits at his desk and he gets things done. He doesn’t think. A single thought would shatter the fragile bond holding him together, and he’s glad for the distraction as it’s his only protection right now. There are things to be done, the world’s not going to wait for him or wait for Jesse to get better and he moves on because that’s what Jesse would want.

No one approaches him. They all seem to stay away from him like he’s a sick, wild animal and frankly, that is okay with him. He drinks his coffee and he files his paperwork and he types away at his desk and he gets through the day without crying. He lives his life with something close to normalcy. He calls that a success.

It’s getting easier. Barely. Very, very gradually. But it counts for something.  


  
 _  
  
_

_  
_


	7. in which we start all over

 [  
](http://pics.livejournal.com/maybecatie/pic/00022eyb/)

  


[  
](http://pics.livejournal.com/maybecatie/pic/00022eyb/) “ It was so easy for me to fall in love with Jesse.”

  


  


“I could talk about him for days and weeks and months and years.”

“I love him. And he loves me. We’re happy… and that’s all that matters to us.”

  
oOo  


 _You were always so shy. So insecure about yourself, always ragging on yourself and putting yourself down and it drove me sick to see. I could see how fragile and vulnerable you were, how you never believed positive reviews of your performances in movies but took criticism on the most personal level. I wanted to protect you from all the dangers of the world, from anything that might harm you in any way. I never wanted to see you sad, lonely, afraid or upset -  I wanted to wrap my arms around you as if that’d protect you from everything. I wanted to take all the pain for you, I wanted to be your shield if it’d make you okay. _

_I was falling more and more in love with you every day. It hurt so badly because I was convinced you were totally oblivious, and totally straight. But I couldn’t help but love every word that came out of your mouth, every little twitch you had, everything that made you you.  You were perfect but I’d resigned myself to being your secret admirer because I didn’t want to add any more stress to your life._

 _I hated myself for falling in love with you. I hated myself for being gay, for falling in love with someone who (I thought) couldn’t reciprocate the feelings.  Hated myself for loving my costar and potentially screwing up the whole movie. It hurt so bad, you hurt me so bad, falling in love with someone who’d never love me back._

 _But how could I help it?_

 _You were perfect. You were everything._

 _You were my Jesse._

  
The obnoxiously loud ringing of Andrew’s cell phone wakes him from the sleep he slipped into when he passed out on the couch after his third day back from work. He’s been going through the motions, blocking thoughts of Jesse out of his head completely, painfully and sorrowfully resigned to letting him recover on his own. It’s been rough going, slow and painful, but each day seems to be just a little less slow and a little less painful than the previous. After all, if he loves Jesse, really, really loves Jesse, he’s got to think of Jesse and not himself. Has to make the best choices by him to get better. And that’s what he’s trying to do, but it hurts. It hurts everywhere. 

He figures it’ll be best for everyone if they just move on. If Jesse lets himself forget and goes on with his life, rebuilding the rest of it. He doesn’t need the added trouble. It’d be a cold, clean goodbye, a cord cut. No lingering awkwardness, no trying to piece together broken memories that will never quite fit together again, like soaked pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. It’d be the cleanest, fastest, easiest. Best for everyone.

Everyone except him.

But he doesn’t matter anymore. It’s Jesse’s future that he wants, Jesse’s future all that he cares about. 

He’s been ignoring phone calls he gets from Emma and Justin for the past few days, too mentally and physically exhausted to deal with anyone, but right now he’s too exhausted to check the caller ID and he presses the phone to his ear. “Hello?” There’s quiet on the other end. “Hello…?”

“Andrew?”

He freezes, body going rigid, throat tightening and for a second he forgets how to speak, because he  knows  that voice, that breathing on the other end, but he somehow he manages to choke out “J-Jesse…?”

“Andrew… hi.”

“Jesse,” Andrew says again, lamely.  Why is Jesse calling him? This is the first time Jesse’s actually initiated contact since the accident, and the armor he’s been piecing together just falls immediately, the fragile equilibrium he’s been trying to maintain  shatters . “ Jesse, ” he repeats when the realization hits him that it’s his  Jes on the other line. “Jesse – hi! W-what… what’s up?” His stomach drops to his feet and his heart jumps into his mouth and he thinks he’s going to pass out.  


 _  
It was a day we were filing in Boston. We went out for sushi, just you and I. We were talking about I don’t remember what. Just laughing, eating our dinner, leaning back in our chairs and enjoying ourselves. While we were eating, a girl came up to you to ask for a picture and your autograph. You seemed utterly shocked that someone would do that and the two of us spent quite a few minutes talking with her._

 _You looked so happy then. Accomplished, appreciative, and you didn’t seem like you were really worrying about anything, but you were blushing when she started gushing about how much she loved  you as an actor.     
  
_  
“Uh, well, not much, really…” Jesse sounds hesitant like something  is  up that he doesn’t want to mention. But it’s so good to hear his voice that Andrew could almost cry. In fact, tears are burning the backs of his eyes and he silently lets one fall. “What’re you, uh, doing…?” 

“I’m…” Andrew licks his lips and lets his eyes sweep over his apartment as if he’s doing something suspicious. “I’d just woken up when you called, actually. From a nap. How are you…?”

“I’m okay, I guess. Went back to see the doctor today… you know, to make sure everything’s healing okay.”

  
 _Before that, we’d spent the night together – just being together. Just smiling, cracking jokes, not talking about anything to serious but just enjoying ourselves. And then I saw how happy you were talking to that fan and that’s when I decided I had to give this up. I had to let you go to let you have the life you wanted because, after all, if I really loved you, I didn’t need you to return it. I just wanted your happiness._  


  
“And?”

“All good.”

“Are you in any pain?”

“I’ll live.”

“But….”

“But?” Andrew wishes Jesse would just say whatever he has to say, even if its ‘ I’ve decided I never want to see you again’ , at least to get that over with. If Jesse said that, he could move on. He’d be broken forever but he’d make himself go on and eventually he’d be close to okay. But if there’s no real goodbye, if these awkward, painful conversations continue Andrew doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it.  

He has a call on the other line but he ignores it.

Silence. The dread is growing deeper and darker in Andrew’s stomach. “Jesse?”

  
 _That day, I gave up. I let you go, I made a pact with myself to accept whatever life you chose to have that didn’t involve me because that’s what you deserved, that’s what you’d worked for. I couldn’t take any of this away from you. And after that it didn’t hurt so much anymore._

  
“Yeah.”

“’ But’ ?” he prompts. 

“Well… my mother and I. Sort of got into an argument, this evening.”

“Oh…?” 

“Yeah. And, it was about… what my parents think we should do, I guess. About. You know.”

“Oh.” Andrew swallows. He’s expecting Jesse to say his parents never want him to see Jesse again – though that doesn’t make much sense because Jesse’s parents love Andrew. “Um… what was… decided?” 

“Well… I want to come back.”

Andrew’s heart stops.  What?  He’d been so resigned to the fate of losing Jesse completely that he forgot the possibility of Jesse returning to him. Did he  hear  him right? Come  back? “ You mean… come back… here? To live?”

“Yes… that’s what I want. That’s kind of what the fight was about.” Jesse’s voice sounds stressed, like he’s rehearsed this conversation in his head but Andrew’s not following the script. Andrew feels bad. But this is so completely unbelievable that he has to clarify. How… why… what?? “My parents thought I’d be better off here. But I can’t… I can’t forget about you. More than I already have, I mean…” his voice tremors, at least Andrew thinks he hears a shake and there’s a gap. “I can’t get you, us, out of my mind. And I can’t just go on like  we  never existed – that’s what they seem to want me to do. But I… I haven’t remembered anything. I feel so guilty..”

Okay, okay, okay. Andrew stands up, dragging his hand over his face, then sits down again. He has to think about this clearly. Jesse wants to come back. But what would that mean for them? He’s already gone back to work, he’s already accepted a life without Jesse and now he’s being told he can have that again? 

Jesse wants to come back? Jesse wants to remember him?  He figured it’d be over.

“That’s… that’s okay, Jesse! But why don’t your parents want that?” There must be a reason.

Jesse sighs. “They don’t want me to stress about it. They want to keep an eye on me, I think. They want to help, you know. And they think being with you is just going to scare me or you’re going to… do something, I don’t know. But I know it’s not right to just… leave you in the dust.”

There’s a gap, and he whispers, “we really loved eachother?”

“Love. Present tense. Or at least… on my end it is.”

Jesse’s silent and Andrew doesn’t blame him. If Jesse doesn’t remember the things that made him fall in love with Andrew then the love can’t be there. It’s not his fault. He can’t imagine how he would feel if someone who was essentially a complete stranger began to claim that they were once lovers. Very close, very intimate lovers. But it hurts, it fucking  hurts  and Andrew would give anything to go back and change it. He’s tried to tell himself that ‘everything happens for a reason’ but he can’t see what good could come out of this.  “Well, Jesse, you’re absolutely welcome here at any time. Any day. If you want to come back… well, I’m open.” 

“Yeah,” murmurs Jesse. “They argued and I think they mutually agreed that I should choose where I want to be in the end.”

He sounds so tired. Poor thing. Andrew’s amazed at what he’s been through; the accident, being thrown off his bike, the hospital, the injuries, the brain trauma, the whole you-used-to-love-me, and now his parents fighting over him… Andrew’s complaining about himself but it seems like Jesse never gets a break. 

“And you choose… here?”

He pauses, almost like he’s reconsidering now. “Yeah. I do.” He takes a breath, then stops before he says anything and a moment passes before he goes again. “Drew?”  
  
Andrew trembles when Jesse calls him ‘Drew’ and tries to keep it out of his voice. “Yes?”

“I’ve… I’ve dreamt about you.”

“Dreamt?”  

“Yeah, I… I don’t know. I dream about you.”

“Well… what do you see?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember them when I wake up – I just remember the image of your face. And sometimes, when I think of you, I’ll get, like… a brief sensation of your hands on my body but they don’t last very long. And I get these  urges … I  want  to remember, Andrew. I  want  to, I want so badly to, I want to feel for you again but I just... they’re not coming back.”

“Well… sleep is supposed to help. And I can help you, Jesse. We can work together.” 

Jesse sounds so broken, but so hopeful when he squeaks out “Really?” and Andrew can’t help but hope that what he’s saying is true; that there’s hope for them, that they  can  get Jesse’s memories back.  He knows that if they haven’t come back by now it’s a good chance it’s permanent. He knows it’s insane and far-fetched and maybe even impossible but he  has  to hope.

“I promise we can try, Jes.”

oOo

Andrew drives to Jesse’s parents place to pick him up, whole body shaking as he stumbles out of the car and to the door, knocking blindly.  Jessejessjessejessejesse.  Jesse’s coming back to him. His world will at least be somewhat right again. He was kidding himself when he thought he could live without Jesse.  He feels like this is a dream,  a cruel, cruel dream that he’ll wake up from and cry into his pillow when he finds out it’s not actually real. 

He can’t help himself; the moment the door opens and he sees Jesse on the other side he launches himself at him. He wraps his arms around Jesse and holds onto him like his life depends on it, because it does. It does, so, so fucking much. How did he ever think he could go on without him? Life without Jesse is no life worth living. And this time,  Jesse hugs him back and they’re just a mess of tangled limbs and one body and for a moment, for one fleeting incredible moment, things are like how they used to be.  

The ride back home is quiet but Andrew does feel like there’s a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s trying not to kid himself but he’s clinging to the shred of hope that  somehow  things are going to be okay. Hope is all he has. It’s so much nicer to be able to think  tomorrow  than  never. 

Jesse trots behind Andrew on the way up to their apartment, a few strides behind him, eyes darting around the way you might walking through a haunted house, wondering when and where the next scare will be. He looks like a sad, lost puppy, which is what shocks Andrew so much about what he does next. 

They’ve barely gotten the door of the apartment closed when Andrew’s shoved against it – almost violently, back slamming against the wood, Jesse’s chest against his – and. 

Jesse’s lips.

Are on his lips.

And his hands… 

His hands are everywhere. Up Andrew’s hips, shoved under his shirt, Jesse’s warm hands dancing and pressing into his skin. His tongue licks over Andrew’s bottom lip, asking for entrance and Andrew grants it, opening his mouth for him. Jesse’s kissing him. Jesse’s  kissing  him and Andrew doesn’t know  why –  does he remember?! – but he does know how to return it. And then Jesse’s mouth is on his neck, his warm palms dragging up his sides (Jesse’s always so everlastingly  warm, e ven in the dead of winter).

But right when Andrew goes up to thread his fingers through Jesse’s curls, it’s like a trigger’s been pulled and he shoves himself backwards, gasping, looking at Andrew like he’s the one who just threw himself at him. And then his brow wrinkles, his lip curls up a little and Andrew knows he’s about to start crying.

“Jes…” he reaches out to touch his shoulder but Jesse pulls away, wreching his shoulder violently before he collapses to the ground. Andrew just doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

“I’m sorry,” Jesse chokes out. His shoulders are shaking and this is the first time he’s broken down in front of Andrew since the accident. Andrew swallows down the lust Jesse brought on him and kneels down beside him, helplessly running a hand up and down his back. He was always able to comfort Jesse through his nervous breakdowns, hold him and assure him he was going to be okay, but now he just doesn’t know what to do. Jesse’s even more fragile and Andrew doesn’t know if he’d be comfortable with any touch- it’s like Jesse’s body’s made of eggshells and he’s terrified to break him. Slowly, and fully prepared to be punched in the nose, he wraps his arm around Jesse’s shaking shoulders. 

“I thought,” Jesse whispers, interrupting mid-sentence by a hiccup, “I thought that might spark a memory.”

And Andrew understands, and with crushing realization he pulls his other arm around Jesse as Jesse draws in a sharp breath, letting it out in rough little heaves. “I want to remember,” Jesse whispers, and in a fit of fury he clenches his fists and screams “I want to remember! Am I ever going to remember?!”

Andrew – terrified, to be honest – looks at him in horror as Jesse pushes himself to his feet. He stoms over to the wall and throws his fist through the wall. He screams and pulls it back, seeing red before he stumblws and falls backwards but Andrew’s there to catch him. They fall to the floor again and Jesse screams and screams and screams until he slumps back against Andrew, quiet and limp and just letting the tears fall from his eyes.

oOo  
  
Andrew’s getting ready for bed, pulling on a sweater because it’s very chilly tonight when he feels a lingering presence in the doorway. “Hey, Jes,” he whispers, closing the drawer before he turns around.  
  
Jesse’s hair is a mess and he has bags under his eyes from when he fell asleep after his freak-out. He looks at Andrew with wide blue eyes and Andrew gives him a weak smile. “D-d’you need anything, Jes - is that okay, if I call you ‘Jes’?”  
  
Jesse nods, and pauses before he asks “Can I sleep in here?”  
  
“Oh... Jesse. Of course you can. You don’t need to ask.”  
  
Jesse blushes, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling as he shuffles into the room. He looks so vulnerable, so much so that Andrew can’t resist pulling him into his arms and holding him against his chest. Jesse closes his eyes, sighing as he sinks into Andrew’s warm body that feels so familiar and still so new. “Andrew?”  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“I think I’m going to take a shower... will you come with me?”  
  
They squeeze into the shower under the hot spray together, Jesse standing under the stream of water as Andrew massages conditioner into his scalp (only partly since Jesse can’t do it on his own with his injured wrist.) He resists leaving kisses down Jesse’s neck, fights the urge to run his hands over his hips or reach around his waist to stroke him - anything they’d normally do in the shower. He watches the line of Jesse’s shoulders slowly relax as Andrew finishes with the shampoo, turning him around to let him rinse his hair off as he runs a soapy loofa over his chest. Andrew always loved mothering him like this and Jesse never complained.   
  
While Jesse can’t pull up a specific memory of being here, it all feels... familiar. Comfortable, like he knows he’s supposed to be here and he knows what to expect. And it’s so much easier to act like this than to painfully be dancing around eachother, carefully calculating every word and motion. This feels so much more right. Safe.  
  
Jesse slips into his favorite old pair of pajama pants and slips into bed, going to curl into Andrew’s side almost like nothing ever happened. Andrew can’t even begin to imagine how scared he must be, having forgotten everything in the past six years.  
  
Andrew’s just glad he has him back. Together, they can do anything. They can take on the world. They can beat this as long as they’re in it together.  


  
oOo

  



	8. in which we look to the future

 

 

i [  
](http://pics.livejournal.com/maybecatie/pic/00023rta/)

[ ** _  
_ ** ](http://pics.livejournal.com/maybecatie/pic/00023rta/)

** _I'll Meet You There part viii_ ** _\- final chapter - in which we look to the future  
_

Okay, so... I'm a little nervous about this. I feel like this ended how I wanted it to and this chapter provides some very nice closure while not being too ambiguous. It came out a bit too sappy for my tastes but... I just hope I've given it an ending worthy of the fic and its amazing readers. You guys rock. I'll shut up now. Go.

  
 

 

 _I’m glad you were the one to kiss me, because I never would have had the courage to even bring it up. I suppose I’d seen some hints before; your eyes lingering on me for a few extra seconds or holding my hand a little too tight, a little too long (too long to be considered appropriate, I mean. Not too long for me. Nothing could be too long for me)._

 _It’s not to say things went perfectly swell after that, though. We didn’t jump into a relationship, but we talked about our feelings - a mutual desire that was less than platonic - and we agreed to wait it out a little, at least until we finished filming. That didn’t stop us from snogging several times, however._

 _But when the movie ended, when we made it official, it was the best feeling in the world. Being with you, being yours, and you being mine. It was so much better with you than it was with anyone else. We argued a lot, in the beginning, but when we were okay it just felt so much easier, so much more natural and comfortable, like we really were meant for eachother. The hardest part was having to hide it in public when all I wanted to do was kiss you every second I possibly could._

The days pass slowly, surely, each one a little easier than the one before it, and somehow faster than expected. Jesse’s back, and things are right again, at least as right as they can be.

They both go back to work, showered with the love and support from coworkers and friends as Jesse has to relearn everything he took for granted.

They sleep together, just sleep, with Andrew’s arms around Jesse, holding him tight , so tight. if there’s anything this has taught him it’s that life is so precious; no matter how strong their love is, always inbetween it is the fragility of human life, and it can be gone in an instant. He holds on as firmly as he can, not willing to let that happen.

The man that hit Jesse, of course, is punished, but it doesn’t seem like anything could be enough for the damage he caused.

Andrew snakes his arm around Jesse from behind as they stand at the counter, reteaching him how to make their favorite recipes, whispering the words warm next to his ear. Jesse learns fast, sometimes he’ll know what to do without instruction and whether he’s remembering or it’s just the part of him that’s a natural cook, he doesn’t know.

It’s after a few nights of this, spending the evenings coddling and coking in the quiet that Jesse turns and tilts his head up to kiss him. Andrew wraps his arms around his shoulder to return it tenderly and Jesse’s lips feel different, rough and chapped from worrying but they taste just as sweet.

The physical injuries heal okay, but the doctors say Jesse won’t ever fully remember the last couple years of his life. Sometimes, something will come seeping back, a memory fluttering at the edge of his mind like trying to place the voice of an actor you maybe once heard on a television show when you were younger, but you can’t quite place. Washing dishes with Andrew, feeling the bubbles and smelling the soap, he knows he’s been here before and it all has a sense of belonging and familiarity to it. He gets a vague image of Andrew’s laugh and the white of flinging bubbles.

Oddly enough, as the brain works in bizarre ways, the first thing he fully remembers is how to make a chai latte. it was always Andrew's favorite drink, and years back he learned how to make them at home, spending Weeks practicing the technique. The recipe dances into his consciousness and Jesse races to the store to get the ingredients before it leaves him. he nearly destroys the kitchen and when Andrew comes home he’s almost angry until h sees Jesse standing there with the mug in his hand, and they hold eachother and cry.

Other things linger on the edge of his mind but not fully coming through the door: the smells of cake batter bring back one of he and Andrew's disastrous baking attempts. Listening to the Broadway soundtrack gifts him with small images of the inside of the Gershwin theatre, where they saw Wicked...

He meets old costars and friends again - Justin and Justin, Armie, Rooney. Some he remembers better than others and some not at all, but they all have gifts and stories to share. He’s surrounded by a bubble of support and love.

And Andrew. oh, sweet Andrew. Andrew who stuck with him, never left him even in the worst of times. Even when he left, Andrew was always right there. Andrew who waited, who took him right back with open arms. Andrew who whispers stories in his ear, who holds him while he sleeps, Andrew who sets up the appointments with therapists and doctors only to hear the same bad news, that Jesse will never remember completely, or even half of the past six years.

Amdrew, the only person he isn’t afraid of.

Andrew, who he loves.

It seems like, if two people are meant to love one-another, if they’re compatible, if they have everything between them that can form love, love is inevitable. You can’t defy destiny and it seems that Jesse and Andrew are just meant to be, because falling back into it feels so natural, so safe, as breathtaking as it was the first time.

“Tell me a story, Andrew,” he’ll whisper, when they’re lying together in bed, and Andrew will always have one to share. He’ll tell Jesse about their trip to London, meeting Andrew’s family, eating fresh fruit from the outdoor market and having a picnic on the lake. The time they went mini-golfing and he fell in a lake trying to retrieve a ball. About the time one of Jesse’s cats (his own, not a foster) died and they had a proper funeral for it, a burial in a meadow with their closest friends. (There are many humorous cat stories to share, and Jesse never gets tired of them. When they cuddle, sometimes the cats join them, curled up at their feet or between them, keeping them warm). He’ll tell Jesse about happy times they had, funny little memories, inside jokes, but he won’t leave out the bad ones, either, because Jesse deserves to know it all.

Andrew writes as much as he can in the notebook, pasting pictures and scraps in until it’s full and bursting. Others add to it, too, sharing their own memories and then Andrew sits down with Jesse, sharing it with him, telling him the stories. Occasionally, there will be something Jesse vaguely recalls. He looks through it every night before he goes to bed.

Certain things might bring something back - a scent, a certain song on the radio or a certain shirt Andrew wears. It’ll bring something back - just a little thread of a memory, like a single frame in the scene of a movie but it’s something, it’s a start.

Not to say things to back to how they were. It’s more like it was in the beginning; careful, tentative movements, experimenting, seeing what’s too far and what’s just right for where they’re at. Everything that drew Jesse to Andrew in the beginning draws him in now and maybe it’s even stronger.

Everyone is so, so supportive and it’s amazing. jesse doesn’t remember much of value but the connection they had doesn’t seem to have slipped.

Andrew tries not to forget, when he sees the blank, sometime scared look in Jesse’s eyes that this is hard on him, too. he can’t imagine what Jesse must be feeling, these jammed gears in his brain.

“It’s scary,” Jesse whispers, curled up into Andrew in bed at night. “Almost six years... gone. And when I think I’m remembering something, I don’t know if it’s a real memory or if I’m just imagining it in my head. I don’t know who I’ve been the past six years of my life.”

Jesse clings to him, the only person he has in this scary new world, who he lovers enough to remain by his side even when he didn’t know who he was - when everything they’d built together came crashing down. That is something Jesse will never forget. As he’s trying to build his life again, Andrew is safety. Andrew is his rock, the one thing he can depend on, Andrew is love and warmth, strong arms and hot kisses.

They move away from the city, to a new place, a town in Vermont, where they can learn together, at the same level. The town turns out to be a much better fit for them; cleaner, safer, much more like home, like the place you’d want to spend your life, and they’re immediately welcomed with open arms.

**

A year passes.

It’s a bumpy ride, a year full of Andrew holding Jesse when he breaks down from the fear and frustration, when Jesse has one of his anxiety attacks that seem to have gotten worse. A year of finding their way together around what is to be their new home. A year of cuddling in bed, Jesse whispering “tell me a story, Andrew,” in Andrew’s ear, and Andrew always having one to share. Of Jesse learning Andrew again, inside and out.

There are tears, lots of them, of doctors coming to the same conclusion that about five years of Jesse’s life are completely wiped out. Five years of memories he’ll never get back.

Andrew learning this new Jesse, it’s like falling in love again, doing it right this time without all the bumps and roadblocks they had in the beginning. Jesse’s memories might be gone, but Jesse, everything that makes him Jesse is still there. If the love was wiped out along with the memories, it doesn’t matter, because their hearts, meant for eachother, find it again.

Jesse won’t ever remember completely, but it seems like this will be just enough.

  _ **fin**_

(YOU GUYS THIS IS THE FIRST FIC I HAVE FINISHED IN OVER A YEAR.  
DO YOU KNOW HOW PROUD OF THAT I AM?  
I FINISHED A FIC!  
A DAMN GOOD ONE TOO!  
i love everyone in this fandom)


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